l^USKIN’S 
CROWN  OF 
WILMUVE 

THE  QUEEN 
OF  THE  AIR 


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THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 

AND 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


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A Series  of  English  Texts,  edited  for  use  in  Elementary  and 
Secondary  Schools,  with  Critical  Introductions,  Notes,  etc. 


Addison’s  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley. 
American  Democracy  from  Washington 
to  Wilson. 

American  Patriotism  in  Prose  and  Verse. 
Andersen’s  Fairy  Tales. 

Arabian  Nights’  Entertainments. 

Arnold’s  Sohrab  and  Rustum. 

Austen’s  Pride  and  Prejudice. 

Austen’s  Sense  and  Sensibility. 

Bacon’s  Essays. 

Baker’s  Out  of  the  Northland. 

Bible  (Memorable  Passages). 
Blackmore’s  Lorna  Doone. 

Boswell’s  Life  of  Johnson.  Abridged. 
Browning’s  Shorter  Poems. 

Mrs.  Browning’s  Poems  (Selected). 
Bryant’s  Thanatopsis,  etc. 

Bryce  on  American  Democracy. 
Bulwer-Lytton’s  Last  Days  of  Pompeii. 
Bunyan’s  The  Pilgrim’s  Progress. 
Burke’s  Speech  on  Conciliation. 

Burns’  Poems  (Selections). 

Byron’s  Childe  Harold’s  Pilgrimage. 
Byron’s  Shorter  Poems. 

Carlyle’s  Essay  on  Burns. 

Carlyle’s  Heroes  and  Hero  Worship. 
Carroll’s  Alice’s  Adventures  in  Wonder- 
land. 

Chaucer’s  Prologue  and  Knight’s  Tale. 
Church’s  The  Story  of  the  Iliad. 
Church’s  The  Story  of  the  Odyssey. 
Coleridge’s  The  Ancient  Mariner. 
Cooper’s  The  Deerslayer. 

Cooper’s  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans. 
Cooper’s  The  Spy. 

Curtis’  Prue  and  I. 

Dana’s  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast. 
Defoe’s  Robinson  Crusoe.  Part  I. 
Defoe’s  Robinson  Crusoe.  Abridged. 
De  Quincey’s  Confessions  of  an  English 
Opium-Eater. 

De  puincey’s  Joan  of  Arc,  and  The  Eng- 
lish Mail-Coach. 

Dickens’  A Christmas  Carol,  and  The 
Cricket  on  the  Hearth. 

Dickens’  A Tale  of  Two  Cities. 

Dickens’  David  Copperfield.  (Two  vols.) 
Dickens’  Oliver  Twist. 

Dryden’s  Palamon  and  Arcite. 


Early  American  Orations,  1760-1824. 
Edwards’  Sermons. 

Eliot’s  Mill  on  the  Floss. 

Eliot’s  Silas  Marner. 

Emerson’s  Essays. 

Emerson’s  Early  Poems. 

Emerson’s  Representative  Men. 

English  Essays. 

English  Narrative  Poems. 

Epoch-making  Papers  in  U.  S.  History. 
Franklin’s  Autobiography. 

Mrs.  Gaskell’s  Cranford. 

Goldsmith’s  The  Deserted  Village,  anc 
Other  Poems. 

Goldsmith’s  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield. 
Gray’s  Elegy,  etc.,  and  Cowper’s  John 
Gilpin,  etc. 

Grimm’s  Fairy  Tales. 

Hale’s  The  Man  Without  a Country. 
Hawthorne’s  Grandfather’s  Chair. 
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Gables. 

Hawthorne’s  Twice-told  Tales  (Selec- 
tions). 

Hawthorne’s  Wonder-Book. 

Holmes’  Poems. 

Holmes’  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table. 
Homer’s  Iliad  (Translated). 

Homer’s  Odyssey  (Translated). 

Hughes’  Tom  Brown’s  School  Days. 
Hugo’s  Les  Miserables.  Abridged. 
Huxley’s  Selected  Essays  and  Addresses. 
Irving^s  Life  of  Ck)ldsmith. 

Irving’s  Knickerbocker’s  History. 
Irving’s  Sketch  Book. 

Irving’s  The  Alhambra. 

Irving’s  Tales  of  a Traveller. 

Keary’s  Heroes  of  Asgard. 
a Kempis  ; The  Imitation  of  Christ. 
Kingsley’s  The  Heroes. 

Kingsley's  Westward  Ho! 

Lamb’s  The  Essays  of  Elia. 

Lamb’s  Tales  from  Shakespeare. 

Letters  from  Many  Pens. 

Lincoln’s  Addresses,  Inaugurals,  and 
Letters. 

Lockhart’s  Life  of  Scott.  Abridged 


IWacmillan’s  Pocftct  American  anU  Engltsi)  (JHasstcs 

A Series  of  English  Texts,  edited  for  use  in  Elementary  and 
Secondary  Schools,  with  Critical  Introductions,  Notes,  etc. 


London’'s  Call  of  the  Wild. 

-ongfellow’s  Evangeline. 

Lon^ellow’s  Hiawatha. 

Longfellow’s  Miles  Standish. 
Longfellow’s  Miles  Standish  and  Minor 
Poems. 

Longfellow’s  Tales  of  a Wayside  Inn. 
Lowell’s  The  Vision  of  Sir  Launfal. 
Lowell’s  Earlier  Essays. 

Macaulay’s  Essay  on  Addison. 

Macaulay’s  Essay  on  Hastings. 
Macaulay’s  Essay  on  Lord  Clive. 
Macaulay’s  Essay  on  Milton. 

Macaulay’s  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome. 
Macaulay’s  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson. 
Malory’s  Le  Morte  d’Arthur. 

Milton’s  Minor  Poems. 

Milton’s  Paradise  Lost,  Books  I and  II. 
Old  English  Ballads. 

Old  Testament  Selections. 

Palgrave’s  Golden  Treasury. 

Parkman’s  Oregon  Trail. 

Plutarch’s  Lives  of  Caesar,  Brutus,  and 
Mark  Antony. 

Poe’s  Poems. 

Poe’s  Prose  Tales  (Selections). 

Poems,  Narrative  and  Lyrical. 

Pope’s  Homer’s  Iliad. 

Pope’s  Homer’s  Odyssey. 

Pope’s  The  Rape  of  the  Lock. 
Representative  Short  Stories. 

Rossetti’s  (Christina)  Selected  Poems. 
Ruskin’s  Sesame  and  Lilies. 

Ruskin’s  The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  and 
Queen  of  the  Air. 

Scott’s  Guy  Mannering. 

Scott’s  Ivanhoe. 

Scott’s  Kenilworth. 

Scott’s  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

Scott’s  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

Scott’s  Marmion. 

Scott’s  Quentin  Durward. 

Scott’s  Rob  Roy. 

Scott’s  The  Talisman. 

Select  Orations. 

Selected  Poems,  for  Required  Reading 
in  Secondary  Schools. 


Selections  from  American  Poetry. 
Selections  for  Oral  Reading. 
Shakespeare’s  As  You  Like  It. 
Shakespeare’s  Hamlet. 

Shakespeare’s  Henry  V. 

Shakespeare’s  Julius  Caesar. 
Shakespeare’s  King  Lear. 

Shakespeare’s  Macbeth. 

Shakespeare’s  Merchant  of  Venice. 
Shakespeare’s  Midsummer  Night’s 
Dream. 

Shakespeare’s  Richard  II. 

Shakespeare’s  Richard  III. 

Shakespeare’s  Romeo  and  Juliet. 
Shakespeare’s  The  Tempest. 
Shakespeare’s  Twelfth  Night. 

Shelley  and  Keats : Poems.  < 

Sheridan’s  The  Rivals  and  The  Schoo# 
for  Scandal. 

Short  Stories. 

Short  Stories  and  Selections. 

Southern  Orators : Selections. 

Southern  Poets : Selections. 

Southey’s  Life  of  Nelson. 

Spenser’s  Faerie  Queene,  Book  I. 
Stevenson’s  Kidnapped. 

Stevenson’s  The  Master  of  Ballantrae. 
Stevenson’s  Travels  with  a Donkey,  and 
An  Inland  Voyage. 

Stevenson’s  Treasure  Island. 

Swift’s  Gulliver’s  Travels. 

Tennyson’s  Idylls  of  the  PHng. 
Tennyson’s  In  Memoriam. 

Tennyson’s  The  Princess. 

Tennyson’s  Shorter  Poems. 

Thackeray’s  English  Humorists. 
Thackeray’s  Henry  Esmond. 

Thoreau’s  Walden, 

Trevelyan’s  Life  of  Macaula)* . Abridged 
Virgil’s  ^Eneid. 

Washington’s  Farewell  Address,  and 
Webster’s  First  Bunker  Hill  Oration. 
Whittier’s  Snow-Bound  and  Other  Parly 
Poems. 

Wister’s  The  Virginian. 

Woolman’s  Journal. 

Wordsworth’s  Shorter  PQ^ms. 


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THE  CKOWiX  OF  WILD  OLIVE 

AND 

THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 

BY 

JOHN  RUSKIN 


EDITED  WITH  NOTES  AND  AN  INTRODUCTION 

BY 

WIGFITMAN  F.  MELTON,  Ph.D. 

“bishop  GEORGE  F.  PIERCE”  PROFKbSOR  OF  ENGLISH 
EMORY  COLLEGE,  OXFORD,  GEORGIA 


Netn  gotfe 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1921 


All  ricfJits  reserved 


Copyright,  1910, 

By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.  Published  March,  igio; 


Norhjooli 

J.  S.  Cushing  Co.  — Berwick  & Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


\ 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


Ruskin  is  as  hard  to  annotate  as  he  is  easy  to  read.  He 
refers  to  almost  everything  in  mere  glancing  allusion.  For 
assistance  in  “ running  down  ” some  of  these  references,  I 
wish  to  thank  my  colleagues  Dr.  Charles  W.  Peppier,  Dr. 
E.  K.  Turner,  and  Professor  Edgar  W.  Johnson.  For  simi- 
lar  favors  I am  grateful  to  Dr.  William  Hand  Browne  of 
the  Johns  Hopkins  University  and  Miss  Frieda  Thies  of  the 
Hopkins  Library. 


W.  F.  M. 


•894514 


vii 


CONTENTS 


Prefatory  Note  .... 

PA<iE 

Introduction  : 

John  Kuskin  . . 

Analysis  of  a Lecture  . 

, 

. 

. 

. xvii 

Subjects  for  Composition 

. 

• 

. 

. XX 

Bibliography  .... 

• 

• 

• 

. xxiv 

The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  : 

Introduction 

, 

, 

1 

I.  Work 

. 

e 

, 

. 17 

II.  Traffic  .... 

III.  War 

• 

• 

. 75 

The  Queen  of  the  Air: 

Preface  .... 

. 118 

I.  Athena  in  the  Heavens 

. 117 

II.  Athena  in  the  Earth  . 

. K)7 

III.  Athena  in  the  Heart  . 

. 205 

IV.  The  Hercules  of  Camariua 

. 257 

Notes 

Index  to  Notes 

• 

. 363 

ix 


INTRODUCTION 


John  Ruskin 

John  Ruskin  was  born  in  London,  February  8,  1819. 
His  parents  were  educated,  well-to-do  Scotch  people. 
The  father,  a successful  business  man,  and  a member  of  a 
prosperous  firm  of  wine  merchants  (Ruskin,  Telford,  and 
Domecq),  was,  nevertheless,  a lover  of  good  books  and 
pictures,  and  gave  his  son  ample  opportunity  for  the  culti- 
vation and  formation  of  literary  style  and  artistic  taste. 
His  mother,  an  orthodox  Scotch  woman,  looked  carefully 
after  the  boy^s  religious  training. 

In  his  last  years  Ruskin  gave,  in  Prceterita,  a detailed 
and  unreserved  account  of  the  events  of  his  childhood. 
It  is  done  so  exquisitely  that  one  can  do  no  better  than  to 
paraphrase  some  parts  of  his  story.  He  tells  (p.  16)  how, 
at  five  or  six  years  of  age,  he  could  pass  his  days  con- 
tentedly in  tracing  the  squares  and  comparing  the  colors 
in  his  carpet,  examining  the  knots  in  the  wood  of  the 
floor,  or  counting  the  bricks  in  the  opposite  houses.  This 
pleasure,  in  simple  occupation  and  loneliness,  was  doubt- 
less due  to  the  fact  that  he  was  allowed  to  have  no  toys,  and 
was  often  whipped.  While  Ruskin  was  a small  boy  it  was 
customary  for  him,  at  six  p.m.,  punctually,  to  join  his 
parents  in  the  drawing-room.  He  had  (p.  51)  his  cup  of 
milk  and  slice  of  bread  and  butter,  in  a little  recess,  with  a 
table  in  front  of  it,  wholly  sacred  to  him,  and  in  which  he 

xi 


INTRODUCTION 


xii 

remained  in  the  evenings  as  an  idol  in  a niche,  while  his 
mother  knitted,  and  his  father  read  to  her,  — and  to  him, 
so  far  as  he  chose  to  listen.  Little  Ruskin's  niche  (pp. 
92-93)  was  a recess  beside  the  fireplace,  well  lighted  from 
the  lateral  window  in  the  summer  evenings,  and  by  the 
chimney-place  lamp  in  winter,  and  out  of  all  inconven- 
ient heat,  or  hurtful  draught.  A writing  table  before  the 
niche  shut  the  boy  well  in,  and  served  as  a place  for  his 
cup,  plate,  and  book.  After  tea,  his  father  read  to  his 
mother  whatever  pleased  themselves,  while  he  picked  up 
what  he  could,  or  read  what  he  liked  better  instead.  Thus 
he  heard  all  the  Shakespeare  comedies  and  historical 
plays  again  and  again,  — all  of  Scott,  and  all  of  Don 
Quixote,  a favorite  book  of  his  father’s. 

Ruskin  says  his  father  was  an  absolutely  beautiful 
reader  of  the  best  poetry  and  prose:  of  Shakespeare, 
Pope,  Spenser,  Byron,  and  Scott ; as  of  Goldsmith,  Addi- 
son, and  Johnson,  and  that  his  delivery  of  Hamlet,  Lear, 
Caesar,  or  Marmion,  was  melodiously  grand  and  just. 
Ruskin  probably  first  became  interested  in  two  of  his 
masters,  Scott  and  Pope,  through  the  influence  of  his 
father’s  reading.  Evidently  he  was  quite  young,  for  he 
says  {Prceterita,  p.  1)  that  on  Sundays  the  effect  of  Scott’s 
novels  and  Pope’s  translation  of  the  Iliad  was  tempered 
by  Robinson  Crusoe  and  Pilgrim^ s Progress.  He  says  (p. 
51)  that  he  can  no  more  recall  the  time  when  he  did  not 
know  the  Waverley  Novels  than  when  he  did  not  know  the 
Bible. 

Ruskin  chronicles  (Prceterita,  pp.  52-58),  with  deep 
gratitude,  his  debt  to  his  mother  for  the  resolutely  con- 
sistent lessons  which  so  exercised  him  in  the  Scriptures 
as  to  make  every  word  of  them  familiar  to  his  ear  in  habit- 
ual music,  — yet  in  that  familiarity  reverenced,  as  tran- 


INTRODUCTION 


xiii 

scending  all  thought,  and  ordaining  all  conduct.  This,  he 
says,  she  effected,  not  by  her  own  sayings  of  personal 
authority,  but  simply  by  compelling  him  to  read  the  Book 
thoroughly  for  himself.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  read 
with  fluency,  she  began  a course  of  Bible  work  with  him, 
which  never  ceased  till  he  went  to  Oxford.  She  read 
alternate  verses  with  him,  watching  at  first  every  intona- 
tion of  his  voice,  and  correcting  the  false  ones,  till  she 
made  him  understand  the  verse,  if  within  his  reach,  rightly 
and  energetically.  It  might  be  beyond  him  altogether ; 
that  she  did  not  care  about;  but  she  made  sure  that  as 
soon  as  he  got  hold  of  it  at  all,  he  should  get  hold  of  it  by 
the  right  end.  In  this  way  she  began  with  the  first  verse  in 
Genesis,  and  went  straight  through,  to  the  last  verse  of  the 
Apocalypse ; hard  names,  numbers,  Levitical  law,  and  all ; 
and  began  again  at  Genesis  the  next  day.  After  the  read- 
ing, two  or  three  chapters  a day  according  to  their  length, 
he  had  to  learn  a few  verses  by  heart,  or  repeat,  to  make 
sure  he  had  not  lost  something  of  what  was  already 
known. 

Mrs.  Ruskin  allowed  not  so  much  as  a syllable  to  be 
missed  or  misplaced;  while  every  sentence  was  required 
to  be  said  over  and  over  again  until  she  was  satisfied  with 
the  accent  of  ft.  Young  Ruskin  and  his  mother  had  a 
struggle  of  about  three  weeks  concerning  the  accent  of  the 
of  in  the  lines  — 

Shall  any  following  spring  revive 

The  ashes  of  the  urn? 

Ruskin  insisting,  partly  in  childish  obstinacy,  ana  partly 
in  true  instinct  for  rhythm,  on  reciting  it  with  an  accented 
of.  It  was  not  till  after  three  weeks  ^ labor  that  his 
mother  got  the  accent  lightened  on  the  of  and  laid  on  the 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION 


ashes,  to  suit  her.  Ruskin  says  if  it  had  taken  three  years, 
she  would  have  done  it,  having  once  undertaken  to  do  it. 
He  says,  furthermore,  that  he  is  thankful  she  succeeded; 
but  after  all,  we  know  that  the  child  was  right  in  accenting 
the  of, 

Ruskin ^s  mother  made  a list  of  the  chapters  which  she 
required  him  to  memorize,  and  with  which  she  gave  him 
secure  ground  for  all  future  life,  practical  and  spiritual. 
It  is  interesting  to  note  the  special  influence  of  these 
chapters  in  his  various  writings.  Here  is  the  list : — 

Exodus,  chapters  15  and  30. 

2 Samuel,  chapter  1,  from  verse  17  to  the  end. 

1 Kings,  chapter  8. 

Psalms,  23,  32,  90,  91,  103,  112,  119,  139. 

Proverbs,  chapters  2,  3,  8,  12. 

Isaiah,  chapter  58. 

Matthew,  chapters  5,  6,  7. 

Acts,  chapter  26. 

1 Corinthians,  chapters  13,  15. 

James,  chapter  4. 

Revelations,  chapters  5,  6. 

Ruskin  declares  that,  though  he  picked  up  the  elements 
of  a little  further  knowledge  in  mathematics,  meteorology, 
and  the  like,  in  after  life,  the  essential  part  of  all  his  educa- 
tion was  the  careful  training  in  the  Bible  that  his  mother 
gave  him. 

In  his  early  years  young  Ruskin  accompanied  his  parents 
on  summer  tours  through  England,  Scotland,  France,  Ger- 
many, and  Switzerland.  It  was  during  these  }^ears  that 
he  saw  (Prceterita,  p.  7)  nearly  all  the  noblemen^s  houses  in 
England ; and  in  reverent  and  healthy  delight  of  uncove- 
tous  admiration,  — perceiving,  as  soon  as  he  could  perceive 
any  political  truth  at  all,  that  it  was  probably  much  hap- 


INTRODUCTION 


XV 


pier  to  live  in  a small  house,  and  have  Warwick  Castle  to 
be  astonished  at,  than  to  live  in  Warwick  Castle  and  have 
nothing  to  be  astonished  at. 

Ruskin  was  an  only  child,  and  while  he  is  not  ungrateful 
for  what  his  parents  did  to  help  him,  he  counts  (p.  62)  the 
dominant  calamities  of  his  life  as  being:  First,  that  he 
had  nothing  to  love;  second  (p.  63),  he  had  noth- 
ing to  endure ; thirdly,  he  was  taught  no  precision 
or  etiquette  of  manners;  lastly  (p.  64),  and  chief  of 
evils,  his  judgment  of  right  and  wrong,  the  powers  of 
independent  action  (not  thought,  in  which  he  says  he  was 
too  independent)  were  left  entirely  undeveloped ; because 
the  bridle  and  blinkers  were  never  taken  off  him.  He  de- 
clares (p.  65)  that  he  was  by  protection  innocent,  instead 
of  by  practice  virtuous.  But,  he  adds  (p.  71),  ^^My  native 
disposition  . . . though  I say  it,  is  extremely  amiable, 
when  I^m  not  bothered.  Whether  acquired  in  childhood, 
or  later,  Ruskin  recounts  (p.  61)  peace,  obedience,  faith,  — - 
these  three  for  chief  good ; next  to  these  the  habit  of  fixed 
attention  with  both  eyes  and  mind,  as  being  the  main 
practical  faculty  of  his  life. 

We  get  some  idea  of  the  bigness  of  Ruskin  ^s  heart  from 
his  remarks  (p.  96)  concerning  a mistaken  correspondent 
who  complained  of  his  habit  of  sneering  at  people  of  no 
ancestry.  He  says  he  had  no  such  habit;  though  not 
always  entirely  at  ease  in  wTiting  of  his  uncles  the  baker 
and  the  tanner.  All  his  readers,  he  affirms,  may  trust  him 
when  he  tells  them  that,  in  remembering  his  dreams  in  the 
house  of  the  entirely  honest  chief  baker  of  Market  Street, 
Croydon,  and  of  Peter,  — not  Simon,  — the  tanner,  whose 
house  was  by  the  riverside  of  Perth,  he  would  not  change 
the  dreams,  far  less  the  tender  realities,  of  those  early  days, 
for  anything  he  could  hear  remembered  by  lords  or  dames. 


XVI 


mTR0DUC7I0K 


of  their  clays  of  childhood  in  castle  halls,  and  by  sweet 
lawns  and  lakes  in  park- walled  forest. 

Of  Ruskin’s  education,  a brief  account  must  here  suf- 
fice. When  he  was  fifteen  years  old,  he  planned  and  car- 
ried on  courses  of  study  in  poetry,  engraving,  architec- 
ture, and  geology.  When  he  entered  the  schoolroom  of 
Rev.  Thomas  Dale,  his  whole  previous  training,  except  a 
few  lessons  in  Greek  under  Dr.  Andrews,  had  been  received 
from  his  mother.  From  Mr.  Daleys  school  Ruskin  went  to 
Christ  Church,  Oxford,  where,  in  due  course  of  time,  he 
won  the  Newdigate  Prize  for  a poem  entitled,  Salsette  and 
Elephanta,  depicting  the  dawn  of  Christianity  in  Hindu- 
stan. At  seventeen  (1836)  Ruskin  found  himself  deeply 
in  love  with  Adele  Domecq,  eldest  daughter  of  his  father’s 
Parisian  partner.  A few  years  later  (1840)  he  heard  of  her 
approaching  marriage  to  a young  French  nobleman,  and 
betook  himself  to  France  and  Italy  for  his  health.  About 
this  time  (1840),  and  a year  before  receiving  his  B.A. 
degree  from  Oxford,  Ruskin  came  back  from  the  continent 
and  spent  some  time  in  Scotland.  It  was  then,  there,  and 
on  the  invitation  of  the  Scottish  maiden  whom  he  married 
eight  years  later,  that  he  wrote  the  delightful  story.  The 
King  of  the  Golden  River, 

To  give  a list  of  all  Ruskin  s writings,  with  appropriate 
comment,  would  make  another  book.  In  fact,  such  a book 
exists:  John  Ruskin,  by  Mrs.  Meynell,  New  York,  1900. 
The  student  is  further  referred  to  the  Bibliography  which 
follows  (pp.  xxvi-xxix)  and  which,  with  only  slight  al- 
teration, is  copied  with  the  generous  consent  of  Mr.  Her- 
bert Bates,  editor  of  Ruskin’s  Sesame  and  Lilies,  in  this 
(Macmillan)  Pocket  Classic  Series. 

One  who  desires  to  get,  in  an  hour's  reading,  a good 
general  idea  of  “IRiskin  the  Man,"  ‘‘Ruskin  the  Writer,” 


INTRODUCTION 


xvii 


and  “Ruskiii's  Teaching  and  Influence/^  will  find  it  in 
Bates's  Introduction  (pp.  ix-xxxix).  He  gives  a satis- 
factory conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  (p.  xxi) : To  be 

willing  to  see  the  beauty  that  is  — to  show  helpful  sym- 
pathy for  men  about  us,  to  be  willing  and  glad  to  work  for 
the  joy  of  doing  our  w^ork  well,  and,  above  all,  to  keep  cleai 
our  sight  of  the  real  mystery  and  nobility  of  life,  — that, 
in  short,  is  the  burden  of  Ruskin's  teaching." 

This  brief  introduction  may  well  close  with  a statement 
made  recently  by  Mr.  Bates  in  a private  letter:  ^^Ruskin 
certainly  is  a bigger  influence  in  the  best  of  modern  life 
than  he  ever  gets  credit  for  being.  We  think  we  are  doing 
it  all  ourselves ; but  he  started  a great  part  of  the  modern 
feeling  toward  industrial  art." 

ANALYSIS  OF  A LECTURE 

In  order  fully  to  comprehend  these  lectures,  and  to 
follow  the  drift  of  Ruskin's  thought,  it  is  worth  while,  after 
having  first  rapidly  read  a lecture,  to  reread  it  slowly  and 
carefully,  meanwhile  making  an  analysis  of  it. 

The  following  brief  (Lecture  I.  Work)  is  a suggestion 
as  to  what  may  be  done  and  how  to  do  it.  The  first  five 
paragraphs  (17-21)  are  introductory:  — 

A.  Distinctions. 

I.  (§22.)  Between  those  who  work  and  those  who 
play,  or  Work  and  Play. 

II.  Between  those  who  produce  the  means  of  life 
and  those  who  consume  them,  or  Producers 
and  Consumers. 

Ill,  Between  those  who  work  with  the  head  and  those 
who  work  with  the  hand,  or  Head-workers  and 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

Hand-workers  (called,  in  § 30,  the  Rich  and 
the  Poor). 

IV.  Between  those  who  work  wisely  and  those  who 
work  foolishly,  or  Wise  Workers  and  Foolish 
Workers. 

I.  (§§  23,24,25,26,27,28.)  Work  and  Play. 

1.  Work. 

а.  Definite  aim. 

б.  For  utility. 

2.  Play. 

а.  No  definite  aim. 

б.  For  amusement. 

c.  Kinds  of  play  (games) : — 

i.  Making  or  winning  money. 

ii.  Hunting  and  shooting. 

iii.  Ladies'  dressing. 

iv.  War. 

II.  (§§  30,  31,  32,  33,  34,  35.)  Producers  and  Con- 
sumers. 

It  will  be  observed  that  Ruskin  deviates  into  the  inci- 
dental subject  of  the  rich  and  the  poor,  making  it  difficult 
to  tabulate  the  subheads  of  this  section.  The  following 
may  suffice : — 

1.  Producers. 

а.  Poor  producer. 
h.  Rich  producer. 

2.  Consumers. 

, a.  Rich  consumer. 

б.  Poor  consumer. 

III.  (§§  36,  37,  38,39,  40,  41,  42.)  Head-workers  and 
Hand-workers. 

(In  § 22,  Ruskin  gives  the  order:  (1)  Head, 


INTRODUCTION 


XIX 


(2)  Hand.  Now  (§36),  he  reverses  the 
order.) 

1 . Head-workers . 

a.  The  upper  class, 

i.  Gentle  work. 

X,  Book-readers. 

y.  Chemists. 

z.  Artists. 

2.  Hand- workers. 

a.  The  lower  class, 

i.  Rough  work. 

X.  Ditch-diggers. 

y.  Mechanical  engineers. 

z.  Iron-moulders. 

h.  How  Hand-workers  are  to  be  paid, 
refreshed,  and  amused:  — 

i.  Better  salaries. 

ii.  Regular  times  of  rest. 

iii.  Gardens,  flowers,  and  sunshine. 

IV.  (§§  43,  44,  45,  46,  47,  48,  49,  50,  51.)  Wise 
Workers  and  Foolish  Workers. 

1.  Wise  Workers. 

а.  Workers  with  God. 

i.  Enforce  justice. 

ii.  Enforce  tidiness. 

iii.  Enforce  fruitfulness. 

б.  Wise  work  is : — 

i.  Honest. 

X,  Fair  play  in  games. 
y.  Fair  play  in  work. 

ii.  Useful. 

X.  Time  of  self  not  wasted. 
y.  Time  of  others  not  wasted. 


XX 


INTRODUCTION 


iii.  Cheerful,  as  a child  work  is. 

X.  Right  childhood  is : — 

1.  Modest. 

2.  Faithful. 

3.  Loving. 

4.  Cheerful. 

(In  § 51,  Ruskin  changes  these  characteristics  to  Humih 
ity.  Faith,  Charity,  and  Cheerfulness.) 

2.  Foolish  workers. 

a.  Workers  against  God. 

i.  Permit  injustice. 

ii.  Permit  disorder. 

iii.  Permit  death. 

SUBJECTS  FOR  COMPOSITION 

These  subjects,  both  in  number  and  variety,  are  in- 
tended to  enable  pupils,  in  various  sections  of  country 
and  in  the  various  high  school  grades  and  college  classes, 
to  select  something  of  special  interest  to  write  about. 

I.  Work 

1.  The  purpose  of  an  education. 

2.  Why  should  the  laboring  class  be  educated  ? 

3.  Outdoor  games  that  are  helpful. 

4.  Making  money,  and  winning  money. 

5.  Shooting  song-birds,  and  harmless  animals  not 

needed  for  food. 

6.  The  tradesmen,  and  other  laborers,  upon  whom 

the  professional  man  depends. 

7.  Should  a rich  man  desire  to  die  poor? 

8.  Helping  the  poor. 


INTRODUCTION 


XXI 


9.  The  idle  poor ; the  idle  rich. 

10.  Noble  and  ignoble  hands. 

11.  Children  playing  in  the  streets. 

12.  A¥ise  work  and  foolish  work. 

13.  Humility,  faith,  and  charity,  without  cheerfulness. 

14.  Talk  and  talkers. 

II.  Traffic 

1.  Good  taste. 

2.  How  to  learn  to  like  to  do  right. 

3.  Steel-traps  ! for  whom  ? 

4.  Day-dreams. 

5.  Cotton  factories. 

6.  Iron  foundries. 

7.  Can  a boy  choose  his  future  ? 

8.  Usury. 

9.  Driving  a bargain.^' 

10.  Should  they  ^Hake  who  have  the  power, and 

should  they  keep  who  can  ? 

11.  Thrift. 

12.  That  which  is  not  needed  is  high  at  any  price. 

13.  The  Chinese  proverb  : ^^He  who  keeps  a shop  should 

smile. 

14.  Billboards. 

III.  War 

1.  Noble  and  ignoble  warfare. 

2.  The  Golden  Rule. 

3.  Why  seek  peace  and  pursue  it  ” ? 

4.  The  folly  of  betting. 

5.  ‘Ht  is  better  to  receive  an  injury  than  to  inflict  one.*^ 

6.  The  home  life  of  some  celebrated  warrior. 


XXll 


INTRODUCTION 


7.  A hero  in  the  private  ranks. 

8.  How  savages  settle  their  disputes. 

9.  Pugilism  as  a profession. 

10.  The  Hague  : arbitration. 

11.  Does  a large  navy  insure  peace  with  foreign  na- 

tions ? 

12.  Waterloo. 

13.  Bunker  Hill. 

14.  First  in  war,  first  in  peace,  and  first  in  the  hearts 

of  his  countrymen. 

IV.  Athena  in  the  Heavens 

1.  Animal  life  and  health. 

2.  Fresh  air;  how,  where,  and  why  to  get  it. 

3.  Sleep  as  Nature  ^s  restorer. 

4.  A poem  on  The  Shepherd  of  the  Clouds. 

5.  Sincere  song  : why  sing  at  all  ? 

6.  National  anthems. 

7.  Song-birds. 

8.  Shade-trees. 

9.  ''The  race  is  not  to  the  swift.” 

10.  An  American  hero. 

11.  A city  without  a park. 

12.  Wild  fiowers. 

13.  "When  I behold  a rainbow.” 

14.  "Under  the  open  sky.^^ 

V.  Athena  in  the  Earth 

1.  Seed-sowing. 

2.  Nutting  time. 

3.  The  flower-garden. 


INTRODUCTION  xxiii 

4.  A country  feast. 

5.  Food  sources. 

6.  A poem : When  it  Rains, 

7.  Christmas  when  grandfather  was  a boj^ 

8.  ^^Eyes  have  they  but  they  see  not.^^ 

9.  Lowly  living  and  high  thinking. 

10.  The  future  of  the  farmer^s  son. 

11.  Maud  Muller. 

12.  Harvesting  in  the  West. 

13.  A world  without  grass. 

14.  ‘^Fletcherism."'' 


VI.  Athena  in  the  Heart 

1.  Rules  for  happy  living. 

2.  The  slothful  man. 

3.  Road-making. 

4.  Aladdin^s  palace. 

5.  The  prodigal  son. 

6.  Arguments  for  liberty. 

7.  The  influence  of  disorder  and  ghastliness’^  on 

young  life. 

8.  Common  sense,  and  the  use  of  it. 

9.  The  Olympic  games. 

10.  Field-day  sports. 

11.  A favorite  landscape. 

12.  “A  simple  English  [or  American]  girl,  of  pure  race 

and  kind  heart.” 

13.  An  admired  work  of  art. 

14.  ^^This  one  thing  I do.” 


XXiV 


INTRODUCTION 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  ' 

A.  Ruskin^s  Writings 

The  following  is  a list  of  Ruskin^s  chief  works  in  the 
order  of  publication,  with  statements,  here  and  there,  as 
to  wRen  they  were  written:  — 

1834-1846.  I.  Articles  on  science  and  art  in  the  Archi- 
tectural Magazine  and  the  Magazine  of  Natural  History. 
II.  Poems  in  London  Monthly  Miscellany  and  Friendship' s 
Offering,  also  the  Newdigate  Prize  Poem,  Salsette  and 
Elephanta,  printed  separately,  also  in  Oxford  Prize  Poems. 

1837.  The  Poetry  of  Architecture,  in  Architectural 
Magazine. 

1843.  Modern  Painters.  Vol.  I.  (written  1842) ; 
1846.  Vol.  II.  (written  1845). 

1856.  Vols.  III.  and  IV.  (written  1855).  1860.  Vol.  V. 
The  Autograph  Edition  was  published  in  1873,  and  there 
have  been  many  editions  and  reprints  since. 

1849.  The  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture  (written 
1847). 

1850.  Poems,  by  J.  R. 

1851.  The  King  of  the  Golden  River  (written  1840  or 
184E 

The  Stones  of  Venice  (written  1850). 

Notes  on  the  Construction  of  Sheepfolds. 

Pre-Raphaelitism . 

1853.  Stones  of  Venice.  Vols.  II.  and  III.  (written 
1852). 

1853-1860.  Giotto  and  his  Works  in  Padua. 

^ Compiled,  with  slight  alterations  and  additions,  from  Bateses 
Bibliography.  See  acknowledgment,  Introduction,  p.  xviii. 


INTRODUCTION 


XXV 


1S54.  Lectures  on  Architecture  and  Painting. 

1(S56.  Modern  Painters.  Vols.  111.  and  IV.  (written 
1855). 

The  Harbors  of  England. 

1857.  Elements  of  Drawing  (written  1856). 

The  Political  Economy  of  Art.  Reprinted  under 
the  title,  A Joy  Forever  {and  its  Price  in  the 
Market).  Education  in  Art. 

1859.  The  Two  Paths. 

Elements  of  Perspective. 

1860.  Modern  Painters,  Vol.  V. 

Unto  this  Last. 

1862-1863.  Munera  Pulveris  (written  1861). 

1865.  Sesame  and  Lilies.  First  two  lectures  (written 
1864). 

1866.  Ethics  of  the  Dust. 

Crown  of  Wild  Olive  (written  1864). 

1867.  Time  and  Tide  by  Weare  and  Tyne. 

1869.  The  Queen  of  the  Air. 

1871-1884.  Fors  Clavigera. 

1870-1872.  Aratra  Pentelici. 

The  Relation  between  Michael  Angelo  and  Tintoret. 
The  Eaglets  Nest. 

1873.  Love's  Meinie,  Parts  1.  and  11. 

Ariadne  Florentina  (written  1872). 

1873-1874.  Val-d'Arno. 

1875-1877.  Mornings  in  Florence. 

1875-1886.  Proserpina. 

1875-1878.  Deucalion. 

1877-1884.  St.  Mark's  Rest. 

1877-1878.  The  Laws  of  Fesole. 

1880.  Elements  of  English  Prosody. 

Arrows  of  the  Chace. 


XXVI 


INTRODUCTION 


1880-1885.  The  Bible  of  Amiens. 

1881.  Love’s  Meinie,  Part  III. 

1883.  The  Art  of  England. 

1884.  The  Storm  Cloud  of  the  Nineteenth  Century. 

1884-1885.  The  Pleasures  of  England. 

1885.  On  the  Old  Road. 

1 886-1888 . Prse t erita . 

1886.  Dilecta. 

Hortus  Inclusus. 

1890.  Ruskiana. 

1891.  The  Poems  of  John  Ruskin. 

B.  Writings  about  Ruskin 

Among  the  best  biographies  and  sketches  of  Ruskin  are 
the  following : The  Life  of  John  Ruskin,  by  W^.  G.  Col- 
lingwood  (Houghton,  Mifflin  Co.) ; John  Ruskin,  M.  H. 
Spielmann  (Lippincott  & Co.) ; John  Ruskin,  his  Life  and 
Teaching,  T.  Marshall  Mather  (Warne  & Co.) ; Ruskin 
et  la  Religion  de  la  Beaute,  Robert  de  la  Sizeranne  (Ha- 
chette  et  Cie) ; John  Ruskin,  Aspects  of  his  Thought  and 
Teaching,  Baillie;  Work  of  John  Ruskin,  Charles  Wald- 
stein  (Harper  and  Brothers) ; Studies  in  Ruskin,  Edward 
T.  Cook  (George  Allen) ; John  Ruskin,  Mrs.  Meynell 
(Dodd,  Mead  and  Company).  Ruskin  is  discussed  also  in 
Modern  Humanists,  John  M.  Robertson  (Swan  Sonnen- 
schein  & Co.).  Poole’s  Index  to  Periodical  Literature  may 
be  consulted  for  the  long  list  of  interesting  magazine 
articles  that  have  appeared,  from  time  to  time,  on  Ruskin, 
The  Man,  The  Artist,  The  Political  Economist,  The  Writer, 
etc.  Bates’s  Bibliography  gives  a list  of  the  magazine 
articles  of  especial  interest  which  appeared  during  the 
year  1900,  and  prior  to  that  time. 


INTROD  UCTION  xx  v ii 

Ruskin  and  his  Contemporaries 

Thomas  Carlyle 1795-1881. 

J.  M.  W.  Turner 1775-1851. 

Alfred  Tennyson 1809-1892. 

Robert  Browning 1812-1889. 

John  Ruskin  • 1819-1900. 

Matthew  Arnold 1822-1888. 

Charles  Eliot  Norton  ....  1827-1908. 

Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti  . . . 1828-1882. 

William  Morris 1834-1890. 

Algernon  C.  Swinburne  . . . 1837-1909. 


^^Do  you  lookout/’  wrote  George  Eliot  to  her  friend  Miss 
Sarah  Hennell,  ^Tor  Ruskin’s  books  whenever  they  ap- 
pear? ...  I venerate  him  as  one  of  the  great  teachers 
of  the  age.  . . . He  teaches  with  the  inspiration  of  a 
Hebrew  prophet.” 

^^Do  you  read  Ruskin’s  Fors  Clavigera?^^  Carlyle 
asked  of  Emerson.  If  you  don’t,  do,  I advise  you.  Also 
. . . whatever  else  he  is  now  writing.  There  is  noth- 
ing going  on  among  us  as  notable  to  me.” 

— Edw^ard  T.  Cook,  Studies  in  Ruskin^  London,  1890, 
p.  3. 


A*"  ■ ’<  • ’r  ’ ' 

=:&  - ; 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


THE  CKOWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


INTRODUCTION  ‘ 

1.  Twenty  years  ago,  there  was  no  lovelier  piece  of 
lowland  scenery  in  South  England,  nor  any  more  pathetic 
in  the  world,  by  its  expression  of  sweet  human  character 
and  life,  than  that  immediately  bordering  on  the  sources 
of  the  Wandel,®  and  including  the  low  moors  of  Addington,  5 
and  the  villages  of  Beddington  and  Carshalton,  with  all 
their  pools  and  streams.  No  clearer  or  diviner  waters  ever 
sang  with  constant  lips  of  the  hand  which  ^^giveth  rain 
from  heaven® ; no  pastures  ever  lightened  in  springtime 
with  more  passionate  blossoming ; no  sweeter  homes  ever  lo 
hallowed  the  heart  of  the  passer-by  wdth  their  pride 
of  peaceful  gladness  — fain-hidden — yet  full-confessed.® 
The  place  remains  (1870)®  nearly  unchanged  in  its  larger 
features ; but  with  deliberate  mind  I say,  that  I have  never 
seen  anything  so  ghastly  in  its  inner  tragic  meaning,  — not  15 
in  Pisan  Maremma,®  — not  byCampagna®  tomb,  — not  by 
the  sand-isles  of  the  Torcellan®  shore, — as  the  slow  steal- 
ing of  aspects  of  reckless,  indolent,  animal  neglect,  over  the 
delicate  sweetness  of  that  English  scene : nor  is  any  blas- 
phemy or  impiety,  any  frantic  saying  or  godless  thought,  20 

^Called  the  preface  in  former  editions ; it  is  one  of  my  bad 
habits  to  put  half  my  books  into  preface.  Of  this  one,  the  only 
prefatory  thing  I have  to  say  is  that  most  of  the  contents  are 
stated  more  fully  in  my  other  volumes ; but  here  are  put  in  what, 
at  least,  I meant  to  be  a more  popular  form,  all  but  this  intro- 
duction, which  was  written  very  carefully  to  be  read,  not  spoken, 
and  with  which  I have  taken  extreme  pains.  ° 

1 


B 


2 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


more  appalling  to  me,  using  the  best  power  of  judgment  1 
have  to  discern  its  sense  and  scope,  than  the  insolent  defil- 
ing of  those  springs  by  the  human  herds  that  drink  of  them. 
Just  where  the  welling  of  stainless  water,  trembling  and 
5 pure,  like  a body  of  light,  enters  the  pool  of  Carshalton,  cut- 
ting itself  a radiant  channel  down  to  the  gravel,  through 
warp  of  feathery  weeds,  all  waving,  which  it  trav3rses  with 
its  deep  threads  of  clearness,  like  the  chalcedony®  in  moss- 
agate,  starred  here  and  there  with  white  grenouillette® ; 
lo  just  in  the  very  rush  and  murmur  of  the  first  spreading 
currents,  the  human  wretches  of  the  place  cast  their  street 
and  house  foulness ; heaps  of  dust  and  slime,  and  broken 
shreds®  of  old  metal,  and  rags  of  putrid  clothes;  which, 
having®  neither  energy  to  cart  away,  nor  decency  enough  to 
15  dig  into  the  ground,®  they  thus  shed  into  the  stream,  to 
diffuse  what  venom  of  it  will  float  and  melt,  far  away,  in  all 
places  where  God  meant  those  waters  to  bring  joy  and 
health.  And,  in  a little  pool,  behind  some  houses  farther 
in  the  village,  where  another  spring  rises,  the  shattered 
20  stones  of  the  well,  and  of  the  little  fretted  channel  which 
was  long  ago  built  and  traced  for  it  by  gentler  hands,®  li^ 
scattered,  each  from  each,  under  a ragged  bank  of  mortar, 
and  scoria,®  and  bricklayer's  refuse,  on  one  side,  which  the 
clean  water  nevertheless  chastises  to  purity;  but  it  can- 
25  not  conquer  the  dead  earth  beyond ; and  there,  circled  and 
coiled  under  festering  scum,  the  stagnant  edge  of  the  pool 
effaces  itself  into  a slope  of  black  slime,  the  accumulation 
of  indolent  years.®  Half-a-dozen  men,  with  one  day's 
work,  could  cleanse  those  pools,  and  trim  the  flowers  about 
30  their  banks,  and  make  every  breath  of  summer  air  above 
them  rich  with  cool  balm;  and  every  glittering  wave 
medicinal,  as  if  it  ran,  troubled  only  of  angels,  from  the 
porch  of  Hethesda.®  But  that  day's  work  is  never  given. 


INTRODUCTION 


*j 


nor,  I suppose,®  will  be;  nor  will  any  joy  ])o  j)ossible  to 
heart  of  man,  for  evermore,  about  those  wells  of  English 
waters. 

2.  When  T last  left  them,  I walked  up  slowly  through 
the  back  streets  of  Croydon,  from  the  old  church  to  the  5 
hospital;  and,  just  on  the  left,  before  coming  up  to  the 
crossing  of  the  High  Street,  there  was  a new  public-house 
built.  And  the  front  of  it  was  built  in  so  wise  manner,® 
that  a recess  of  two  feet  was  left  below  its  front  windows, 
between  them  and  the  street-pavement ; a recess  too  nar-  ic 
row  for  any  possible  use  (for  even  if  it  had  been  occupied 
by  a seat,  as  in  old  time  it  might  have  been,  everybody 
walking  along  the  street  would  have  fallen  over  the  legs 
of  the  reposing  wayfarer).  But,  by  way  of  making  this 
two  feet  depth  of  freehold®  land  more  expressive  of  the  15 
dignity  of  an  establishment  for  the  sale  of  spirituous  liq- 
uors, it  was  fenced  from  the  pavement  by  an  imposing  iron 
railing,  having  four  or  five  spearheads  to  the  yard  of  it,  and 
six  feet  high ; containing  as  much  iron  and  iron-work,  in- 
deed, as  could  well  be  put  into  the  space ; and  by  this  stately  20 
arrangement, •the  little  piece  of  dead  ground®  within,  be- 
tween wall  and  street,  became  a protective  receptacle 
of  refuse ; cigar  ends,  and  oyster  shells,  and  the  like,  such 
as  an  open-handed®  English  street-populace  habitually 
scatters® ; and  was  thus  left,  unsweepable  by  any  ordinary  25 
methods.  Now  the  iron  bars  which,  uselessly  (or  in  great 
degree  worse  than  uselessly),  enclosed  this  bit  of  ground, 
and  made  it  pestilent,  represented  a quantity  of  work 
which  would  have  cleansed  the  Carshalton  pools  three 
times  over:  of  work,  partly  cramped  and  perilous,®  in 30 
the  mine;  parth^  grievous  and  horrible,®  at  the  furnace; 
partly  foolish  and  sedentary,  of  ill-taught  students  making 
bad  designs : work  from  t'^'e  beginning  to  the  last  fruits  of 


4 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


it,  and  in  all  the  branches  of  it,  venomous,  deathful,'  and 
miserable. 

3.°  Now,  how  did  it  come  to  pass  that  this  work  was 
done  instead  of  the  other;  that  the  strength  and  life  of 
5 the  English  operative  were  spent  in  defiling  ground,  in- 
stead of  redeeming  it,  and  in  producing  an  entirely  (in 
that  place)  valueless  piece  of  metal,  which  can  neither  be 
eaten  nor  breathed,  instead  of  medicinal  fresh  air  and  pure 
water  ? 

lo  4.  There  is  but  one  reason  for  it,  and  at  present  a con- 
clusive one,  — that  the  capitalist  can  charge  percentage 
on  the  work  in  the  one  case,  and  cannot  in  the  other.  If, 
having  certain  funds  for  supporting  labor  at  my  disposal, 
I pay  men  merely  to  keep  my  ground  in  order,  my  money 
15  is,  in  that  function,  spent  once  for  all ; but  if  I pay  them  to 
dig  iron  out  of  my  ground  and  work  it,  and  sell  it,  I can 

^ A fearful  occurrence  took  place  a few  days  since,  near  Wolver- 
hampton. Thomas  Snape,  aged  nineteen,  was  on  duty  as  the 
keeper’^  of  a blast  furnace  at  Deepfield,  assisted  by  John  Gard- 
ner, aged  eighteen,  and  Joseph  Swift,  aged  thirty-seven.  The 
furnace  contained  four  tons  of  molten  iron,  and  an  equal  amount 
of  cinders,  and  ought  to  have  been  run  out  at  7.30  p.m.  But 
Snape  and  his  mates,  engaged  in  talking  and  drinking,  neglected 
their  duty,  and,  in  the  meantime,  the  iron  rose  in  the  furnace  until 
it  reached  a pipe  wherein  water  was  contained.  Just  as  the  men 
had  stripped,  and  were  proceeding  to  tap  the  furnace,  the  water 
in  the  pipe,  converted  into  steam,  burst  down  its  front  and  let 
loose  on  them  the  molten  metal,  which  instantaneously  con- 
sumed Gardner;  Snape,  terribly  burnt,  and  mad  v/ith  pain, 
leaped  into  the  canal  and  then  ran  home  and  fell  dead  on  the 
threshold.  Swift  survived  to  reach  the  hospital,  where  hft  died 
too. 

In  further  illustration  of  this  matter,  T beg  the  reader  to  look  at 
the  article  on  the  ‘'Decay  of  the  English  Race,”  in  the  Pall-Mall 
Gazette  of  April  17,  of  this  year  [1870];  and  at  the  articles  on  the 
“Report  of  the  Thames  Commission,”  in  any  journals  of  the  same 
date. 


INTRODUCTION 


5 


charge  rent  for  the  ground,  and  percentage®  both  on  the 
manufacture  and  the  sale,  and  make  my  capital  profitable 
in  these  three  by-ways.®  The  greater  part  of  the  profit- 
able investment  of  capital,  in  the  present  day,  is  in  opera- 
tions of  this  kind,  in  which  the  public  is  persuaded  to  buy 
something  of  no  use  to  it,  on  production  or  sale  of  which 
the  capitalist  may  charge  percentage ; the  said  public  re- 
maining all  the  while  under  the  persuasion  that  the  per- 
centages thus  obtained  are  real  national  gains,  whereas, 
they  are  merely  filchings®  out  of  partially  light  pockets,  to 
swell  heavy  ones. 

5. ®  Thus,  the  Croydon  publican®  buys  the  iron  railing, 
to  make  himself  more  conspicuous  to  drunkards.  The 
public-house  keeper  on  the  other  side  of  the  way  presently 
buys  another  railing,  to  out-rail®  him  with.  Both  are,  as 
to  their  relative  attractiveness,  just  where  the}"  were  be- 
fore® ; but  they  have  lost  the  price  of  the  railings ; which 
they  must  either  themselves  finally  lose,  or  make  their 
aforesaid  customers,  the  amateurs  of  railings,®  pay,  by 
raising  the  price  of  their  beer,  or  adulterating  it.  Either 
the  publicans,  or  their  customers,  are  thus  poorer  by  'pre- 
cisely 'what  the  capitalist  has  gamed° ; and  the  value  of  the 
industry  itself,  meantime,  has  been  lost  to  the  nation  ; 
the  iron  bars  in  that  form  and  place  being  wholly  useless. 

6.  It  is  this  mode  of  taxation  of  the  poor  by  the  rich 
which  is  referred  to  in  the  text  (§  34),  in  comparing  the 
modern  acquisitive  power  of  capital  with  that  of  the  lance 
and  sword ; the  only  difference  being  that  the  levy  of 
blackmail®  in  old  times  was  by  force,  and  is  now  by  cozen- 
ing.® The  old  rider  and  reiver®  frankly  quartered®  him- 
self on  the  publican  for  the  night ; — the  modern  one 
merely  makes  his  lance  into  an  iron  spike,  and  persuades 
his  host  to  buy  it.  One  comes  as  an  open  robber,®  the 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


6 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


other  as  a cheating  pedler;  but  the  result,  to  the  injured 
person’s  pocket,  is  absolutely  the  same.  Of  course  many 
useful  industries  mingle  with,  and  disguise  the  useless 
ones ; and  in  the  habits  of  energy  aroused  by  the  struggle, 
^ there  is  a certain  direct  good.  It  is  better  to  spend  four 
thousand  pounds  in  making  a gun,  and  then  to  blow  it  to 
pieces,  than  to  pass  life  in  idleness.  Only  do  not  let  the 
proceeding®  be  called  political  economy.”® 

7.  There  is  also  a confused  notion  in  the  minds  of  many 
lo  persons,  that  the  gathering  of  the  property  of  the  poor  into 
the  hands  of  the  rich  does  no  ultimate  harm;  since,  in 
whosesoever  hands  it  may  be,  it  must  be  spent  at  last,  and 
thus,  they  think,  return  to  the  poor  again.  This  fallacy 
has  been  again  and  again  exposed ; but  granting  the  plea 
15  true,  the  same  apolog}^  may,  of  course,  be  made  for  black- 
mail, or  any  other  form  of  robbery.  It  might  be  (though 
practically  it  never  is)  as  advantageous  for  the  nation  that 
the  robber  should  have  the  spending  of  the  money  he  ex- 
torts, as  that  the  person  robbed  should  have  spent  it. 
20  But  this  is  no  excuse  for  the  theft.®  If  I were  to  put  a 
turnpike®  on  the  road  where  it  passes  my  own  gate,  and 
endeavor  to  exact  a shilling  from  every  passenger,  the 
public  would  soon  do  away  with  my  gate,  without  listening 
to  any  plea  on  m}^  part  that  ‘it  was  as  advantageous  to 
25  them,  in  the  end,  that  I should  spend  their  shillings,  as  that 
they  themselves  should.’  But  if,  instead  of  outfacing® 
them  with  a turnpike,  I can  only  persuade  them  to  come 
in  and  buy  stones,  or  old  iron,  or  any  other  useless  thing, 
out  of  my  ground,  I may  rob  them  to  the  same  extent,  and 
30  be,  moreover,  thanked  as  a ])ublic  benefactor,  and  pro- 
moter of  commercial  ])rosperity.  And  this  main  question 
for  the  poor  of  IhiglHiid  — for  the  f)00r  of  all  countries 
is  wliolly  omitted  in  every  common  treatise  on  the  subject 


INTRODUCTION 


i 


of  wealth.  Even  by  the  laborers  themseh  es,  fhe  o|)or;j- 
tion  of  capital  is  regar-ded  only  in  its  effect  on  tlieir  imme- 
diate interests ; never  in  the  far  more  terrific  power  of  its 
appointment  of  the  kind  and  the  object  of  labor.  It 
matters  little,  ultimately,  how  much  a laborer  is  paid  for  5 
making  anything ; but  it  matters  fearfulty  what  the  thing 
is,  which  he°  is  compelled  to  make.  If  his  labor  is  so  or- 
dered as  to  produce  food,  and  fresh  air,  and  fresh  water,  no 
matter  that  his  wages  are  low;  — the  food  and  fresh  air 
and  water  will  be  at  last  there ; and  ho  will  at  last  get  them,  ic 
But  if  he  is  paid  to  destroy^  food  and  fresh  air,  or  to  pro- 
duce iron  bars  instead  of  them,  — the  food  and  air  will 
finally  not  be  there,  and  he  will  not  get  them,  to  his  great 
and  final  inconvenience. ° 

8.°  I have  been  long  accustomed,  as  all  men  engaged  in  15 
work  of  investigation  must  be,  to  hear  my  statements 
laughed  at  for  years  before  they  are  examined  or  believed®  ; 
and  I am  generally  content  to  wait  the  public^s  time.  But 
it  has  not  been  without  displeased  surprise  that  I have 
found  myself  totally  unable,  as  yet,  by  any  repetition,  or  20 
illustration,  to  force  this  plain  thought  into  my  readers^ 
heads,  — that  the  wealth  of  nations,  as  of  men,  consists  in 
substfince,  not  in  ciphers;  and  that  the  real  good  of  all 
work,  and  of  all  commerce,  depends  on  the  final  intrinsic® 
worth  of  the  thing  you  make,  or  get  by  it.  This  is  a ‘‘  prac-  25 
tical"®  enough  statement,  one  would  think:  but  the 
I^inglish  public  has  been  so  possessed  by  its  modern  school 
of  economists®  with  the  notion  that  Business  is  always  good, 
whether  it  be  busy  in  miscliief  or  in  benefit ; and  that  buy- 
ing and  selling  are  always  salutary,  whatever  the  intrinsic  30 
worth  of  what  you  buy  or  sell,  that  it  seems  impossible  to 
gain  so  much  as  a patient  hearing  for  any  inquiry  respect- 
ing the  substantial  result  of  our  eager  modern  labor.® 


8 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


9.  I have  never  felt  more  checked  by  the  sense  of  this 
impossibility  than  in  arranging  the  heads®  of  the  following 
lectures,  Avhich,  though  delwered  at  considerable  inter- 
vals of  time,  and  in  different  places,  Avere  not  prepared 

5 without  reference  to  each  other.  Their  connection  Avould, 
hoAA  CA'er,  haA^e  been  made  far  more  distinct,  if  I had  not 
been  prevented,  by  AA^hat  I feel  to  be  another  great  difficulty 
in  addressing  English  audiences,  from  enforcing,  Avith  any 
decision,  the  common,  and  to  me  the  most  important,  part 
lo  of  their  subjects.  I chiefly  desired®  to  question  my 
hearers  — operatives,  merchants,  and  soldiers  — as  to 
the  ultimate  meaning  of  the  business  they  had  In  hand ; 
and  to  know  from  them  Avhat  they  expected  or  intended 
their  manufacture  to  come  to,  their  selling  to  come  to,  and 
15  their  killing  to  come  to.  That  appeared  the  first  point 
needing  determination  before  I could  speak  to  them  Avith 
any  real  utility  or  effect.  “You  craftsmen  — salesmen 
— SAvordsmen,  — do  but  tell  me  clearly  Avhat  you  Avant ; 
then,  if  I can  say  anything  to  help  you,  I Avill ; and  if  not, 
20  I Avill  account  to  you  as  I best  may  for  my  inability. 

10.  But  in  order  to  put  this  question  into  any  terms,  one 
had  first  of  all  to  face  the  difficulty®  — to  m.e  for  the 
present  insuperable,  — the  difficulty  of  knoAAung  aa  hether 
to  address  one^s  audience  as  believing,  or  not  believing,  in 

25  any  other  Avorld  than  this.  For  if  you  address  any  average 
modern  English  company  as  belieAung  in  an  Eternal  life, 
and  then®  endeavor  to  draAV  any  conclusions,  from  this 
assumed  belief,  as  to  their  present  business,  they  will  forth- 
with tell  you  that  “Avhat  you  say  is  very  beautiful,  but  it 
30  is  not  practical. ® If,  on  the  contrary,  you  frankly  ad- 
dress them  as  believers®  in  Eternal  life,  and  try  to 
draAV  any  consequences  from  that  unbelief,  — thiy  im- 
mediately hold  you  for  an  accursed  person,  and  shake  off 
the  dust  from  their  feet  at  you.® 


INTRODUCTION 


9 


11.  And  the  more  I thought  over  what  I had  got®  to 
say,  the  less  I found  I could  say  it,  without  some  reference 
to  this  intangible  or  intractable  question.®  It  made  all 
the  difference,  in  asserting  any  principle  of  war,  whether 
one  assumed  that  a discharge  of  artillery  would  merely 
knead  dowm  a certain  quantity  of  once  living  clay  into  a 
level  line,  as  in  a brick-field ; or  whether,  out  of  every  sepa- 
rately Christian-named  portion  of  the  ruinous  heap,  there 
went  out,  into  the  smoke  and  dead-fallen  air  of  battle,  some 
astonished  condition  of  soul,  unwillingly  released.  It 
made  all  the  difference,  in  speaking  of  the  possible  range 
of  commerce,  whether  one  assumed  that  all  bargains  re- 
lated only  to  visible  property  — or  whether  property,  for 
the  present  invisible,®  but  nevertheless  real,  was  elsewhere 
purchasable  on  other  terms.  It  made  all  the  difference,  in 
addressing  a body  of  men  subject  to  considerable  hardshij), 
and  having  to  find  some  way  out  of  it  — w^hether  one  could 
confidently  say  to  them,  My  friends,  — you  have  only  to 
die,  and  all  will  be  right  ; or  w^hether  one  had  any  secret 
misgiving  that  such  advice  wms  more  blessed  to  him  that 
gave,  than  to  him  that  took  it.® 

12.  And  therefore  the  deliberate  reader  will  find, 
throughout  these  lectures,  a hesitation  in  driving  points 
home,  and  a pausing  short  of  conclusions  w hich  he  w ill 
feel  I would  fain  have  come  to ; — hesitation  which  arises 
wholly  from  this  uncertainty  of  my  hearers^  temper. 
For  I do  not  speak,  nor  have  I ever  spoken,  since  the  time 
of  first  forward  youth,®  in  any  proselyting  temper,  as 
desiring  to  persuade  any  one  to  believe  anything®;  but 
whomsoever  I venture  to  address,  I take  for  the  time  his 
creed®  as  I find  it,  and  endeavor  to  push  it  into  such  vital 
fruit  as  it  seems  capable  of.  Thus,  it  is  a creed  with  a great 
part  of  the  existing  English  people,  that  they  are  in  pos= 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


10 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


session  of  a book  which  tells  them,  straight  from  the  lips 
of  God,  all  they  ought  to  do,  and  need  to  know.  I have 
read  that  book,  with  as  much  care  as  most  of  them,  for 
some  forty  years®;  and  am  thankful  that,  on  those  who 
5 trust  it,  I can  press  its  pleadings.  My  endeavor  has  been 
uniformly  to  make  them  trust  it  more  deepl}^  than  they  do ; 
trust  it,  not  in  their  own  favorite  verses  only,  but  in  the 
sum  of  all ; trust  it  not  as  a fetish®  or  talisman,®  which  they 
are  to  be  saved  by  daily  repetitions  of ; but  as  a Captain's 
10  order,  to  be  heard  and  obeyed  at  their  peril.  I was  always 
encouraged  by  supposing  my  hearers  to  hold  such  belief. 
To  these,  if  to  any,  I once  had  hope  of  addressing,  with  ac- 
ceptance, words  which  insisted  on  the  guilt  of  pride,  and 
the  futility  of  avarice ; from  these,  if  from  any,  I once  ex- 
15  pected  ratification  of  a political  economy,  which  asserted 
that  the  life  was  more  than  the  meat,  and  the  body  than 
raiment® ; and  these,  it  once  seemed  to  me,  I might  ask, 
without  being  accused  of  fanaticism,®  not  merely  in  doc- 
trine of  the  lips,  but  in  the  bestou^al  of  their  heart's 
20  treasure,  to  separate  themselves  from  the  crowd  of  whom 
it  is  written,  “After  all  these  things  do  the  Gentiles  seek."® 
13.®  It  cannot,  however,  be  assumed,  with  any  sem- 
blance of  reason,  that  a general  audience  is  now  wholly,  or 
even  in  majority,  composed  of  these  religious  persons.  A 
25  large  portion  must  always  consist  of  men  who  admit  no 
such  creed ; or  who,  at  least,  are  inaccessible  to  appeals 
founded  on  it.  And  as,  with  the  so-called  Christian,  I 
desired  to  plead  for  honest  declaration  and  fulfilment  of 
his  belief  in  life,  — with  the  so-called  Infidel,  I desired 
30  to  plead  for  an  honest  declaration  and  fulfilment  of  his 
belief  in  death.  The  dilemma  is  inevitable.  Men  must 
either  hereafter  live,  or  liereafter  die  ; fate  may  be  bravely 
met,  and  conduct  wisely  ordered,  on  either  expectation; 


INTRODUCTION 


11 


hut  never  in  hesitation  between  ungi’asped  liope,  and  un- 
confronted fear.  We  usually  believe  in  immortality,  so 
far  as  to  avoid  preparation  for  death ; and  in  mortality, 
so  far  as  to  avoid  preparation  for  ari3^thing  after  death. 
Whereas,  a wise  man  will  at  least  hold  himself  ready  for  5 
one  or  other  of  two  events,  of  which  one  or  other  is  inevit- 
able ; and  will  have  all  things  ended  in  order®  for  his  sleep, 

: r left  in  order  for  his  awakening. 

14.®  Nor  have  we  any  right  to  call  it  an  ignoble  judg- 
ment, if  he  determine  to  end®  them  in  order,  as  for  sleep,  ic 
A brave  belief  in  life  is  indeed  an  enviable  state  of  mind, 
but,  as  far  as  I can  discern,  an  unusual  one.  I know  few 
Christians  so  convinced  of  the  splendor  of  the  rooms  in 
their  Father^s  house,®  as  to  be  happier  when  their  friends 
are  called  to  those  mansions,  than  they  would  have  been  15 
if  the  Queen  had  sent  for  them  to  live  at  court® : nor  has 
the  Churches  most  ardent  desire  to  depart,  and  be  with 
Christ, ^^®  ever  cured  it  of  the  singular  habit  of  putting  on 
mourning  for  every  person  summoned  to  such  departure. 
On  the  contrary,  a brave  belief  in  death  has  been  assuredl}^  20 
held  by  many  not  ignoble  persons,  and  it  is  a sign  of  the 
last  depravity  in  the  Church  itself,  when  it  assumes  that 
such  a belief  is  inconsistent  with  either  purity  of  character, 
or  energy  of  hand.  The  shortness  of  life  is  not,  to  any 
rational  person,  a conclusive  reason  for  wasting  the  space  25 
of  it  which  may  be  granted  him ; nor  does  the  anticipation 
of  death  to-morrow  suggest,  to  any  one  but  a drunkard,® 
the  expediency  of  drunkenness  to-day.  To  teach  that 
there  is  no  device  in  the  grave,®  may  indeed  make  the  de- 
viceless person  more  contented  in  his  dulness ; but  it  will  30 
make  the  deviser  only  more  earnest  in  devising ; nor  xs  hu- 
man conduct  likely,  in  every  case,  to  be  purer,  under  the 
conviction  that  all  its  evil  may  in  a moment  be  pardoned, 


12 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


and  all  its  wrong-doing  in  a moment  redeemed ; and  that 
the  sigh  of  repentance,  which  purges  the  guilt  of  the  past, 
will  waft  the  soul  into  a felicity  which  forgets  its  pain,  — 
than  it  may  be  under  the  sterner,  and  to  many  not  unwise 
5 minds,  more  probable,  apprehension,  that  ^^what  a man 
soweth  that  shall  he  also  reap  — or  others  reap,  — when 
he,  the  living  seed  of  pestilence,  walketh  no  more  in  dark- 
ness,® but  lies  down  therein. 

15.®  But  to  men  for  whom  feebleness  of  sight,  or  bitter- 
lo  ness  of  soul,  or  the  offence®  given  by  the  conduct  of  those 
who  claim  higher  hope,  may  have  rendered  this  painful 
creed  the  only  possible  one,  there  is  an  appeal  to  be  made, 
more  secure  than  any  which®  can  be  addressed  to  hap- 
pier persons.  Might  not  a preacher,  in  comfortless  but 
15  faithful  zeal  — from  the  poor  height  of  a grave-hillock  for 
his  Hill  of  Mars,® and  with  the  Cave  of  the  Eumenides®  at 
his  side  — say  to  them® : Hear  me,  you  dying  men,  who 
will  soon  be  deaf  forever.  For  these  others,  at  your  right 
hand  and  your  left,  who  look  forward  to  a state  of  infinite 
20  existence,  in  which  all  their  errors  will  be  overruled,  and  all 
their  faults  forgiven ; — for  these,  who,  stained  and  black- 
ened in  the  battle  smoke  of  mortahty,  have  but  to  dip 
themselves  for  an  instant  in  the  font  of  death,  and  to  rise 
renewed  of  plumage,  as  a dove  that  is  covered  with  silver, 
25  and  her  feathers  like  gold : — for  these,  indeed,  it  may  be 
permissible  to  waste  their  numbered  moments,  through 
faith  in  a future  of  innumerable  hours ; to  these,  in  their 
weakness,  it  may  be  conceded  that  they  should  tamper 
with  sin  which  can  only  bring  forth  fruit  of  righteousness,® 
30  and  profit  by  the  iniquity  which,  one  day,  will  be  remem- 
bered no  more.®  In  them,  it  may  be  no  sign  of  hardness 
of  heart  to  neglect  the  poor,  over  whom  they  know  their 
Master  is  watching,  and  to  leave  those  to  perish  tempora- 


INTRODUCTION 


13 


rily,  who  cannot  perish  eternally.  But,  for  you,^  there  is 
no  such  hope,  and  therefore  no  such  excuse.  This  fate, 
which  you  ordain  for  the  wretched,  you  believe  to  be  all 
their  inheritance;  you  may  crush  them,  before  the  moth,® 
and  they  will  never  rise  to  rebuke  you ; — their  breath,  5 
which  fails  for  lack  of  food,®  once  expiring,  will  never  be 
recalled  to  whisper®  against  you  a word  of  accusing ; — 
they  and  you,  as  you  think,  shall  lie  down  together  in  the 
dust,®  and  the  worms  cover  you® ; and  for  them  there  shall 
be  no  consolation,  and  on  you  no  vengeance,  — only  the  10 
question  murmured  above  your  grave:  ^^Who  shall  repay 
him  what  he  hath  done  ? Is  it  therefore  easier  for  you  in 
your  heart  to  inflict  the  sorrow^  for  which  there  is  no  remedy  ? 
Will  you  take,  wantonly,  this  little  all  of  his  life  from  your 
poor  brother,  and  make  his  brief  hours  long  to  him  with  15 
pain?  Will  you  be  more  prompt  to  the  injustice  which 
can  never  be  redressed ; and  more  niggardly®  of  the  mercy 
which  you  can  bestow  but  once,  and  which,  refusing,  you 
refuse  forever? 

16.  I think  better  of  you,  even  of  the  most  selfish,  than  2c 
that  you  would  do  this,  well  understanding  your  act.® 
And  for  yourselves,  it  seems  to  me,  the  question  becomes 
not  less  grave  when  brought®  into  these  curt  limits.  If 
your  life  were  but  a fever  fit,®  — the  madness  of  a night, 
whose  follies  were  all  to  be  forgotten  in  the  dawn,  it  might  25 
matter  little  Itow  you  fretted  aAvay  the  sickly  hours,  — 
what  toys  you  snatched  at,  or  let  fall,  — what  visions  you 
followed  wistfully  with  the  deceived  eyes  of  sleepless 
frenzy.  Is  the  earth  only  an  hospital?  are  health  and 
heaven  to  come®  ? Then  play,  if  you  care  to  play,  on  the  30 
floor  of  the  hospital  dens.  Knit  its  straw  into  what 
crowns®  please  you ; gather  the  dust  of  it  for  treasure,  and 
die  rich  in  that,  though®  clutching  at  the  black  motes  in  the 


14 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


air  with  your  dying  hands ; — and  yet,  it  may  he  well  with 
you.  But  if  this  life  be  dream,  and  the  world  no  hospi- 
tal, but  your  Palace-inheritance® ; — if  all  the  peace  and 
power  and  joy  you  can  ever  win,  must  be  won  now,  and  all 
5 fruit  of  victory  gathered  here,  or  never;  — will  }mu  still, 
throughout  the  puny  totality  of  ^mur  life,  weary  yourselves 
in  the  fire  for  vanity  ? If  there  is  no  rest  which  remaineth® 
for  you,  is  there  none  you  might  presently  take  ? was  this 
grass  of  the  earth  made  green  for  your  shroud  only,  not  for 
lo  your  bed  ? and  can  you  never  lie  down  uTon  it,  but  only 
under  it?  The  heathen,  in  their  saddest  hours,  thought 
not  so.®  They  knew  that  life  brought  its  contest,  but  they 
expected  from  it  also  the  crown®  of  all  contest : No  proud 

one ! no  jewelled  circlet  flaming  through  Heaven  above 
15  the  height  of  the  unmerited  throne;  only  some  few  leaves 
of  wild  olive,®  cool  to  the  tired  brow,  through  a few  years 
of  peace.  It  should  have  been  of  gold,  they  thought; 
but  Jupiter  was  poor®;  this  was  the  best  the  god  could 
give  them.  Seeking  a better  than  this,  they  had  known 
20  it  a mockery.  Not  in  war,  not  in  wealth,  not  in  tyranny, 
was  there  any  happiness  to  be  found  for  them  — only  in 
kindly  peace,  fruitful  and  free.  The  wreath  was  to  be  of 
wild  olive,®  mark  you:  — the  tree  that  grows  carelessly, 
tufting  the  rocks  with  no  vivid  bloom,  no  verdure  of 
25  branch;  only  with  soft  snow  of  blossom,  and  scarcely  ful- 
filled fruit,  mixed  with  gray  leaf  and  thornset  stem ; no  fas- 
tening of  diadem  for  you  but  with  such  sharp  embroidery  ! 
But  this,  such  as  it  is,  you  may  win  while  yet  you  live ; type 
of  gray  honor  and  sweet  rest.^  Free-heartedness,  and 
30  graciousness,  and  undisturbed  trust,  and  requited  love, 
and  the  sight  of  the  peace  of  others,  and  the  ministry  to 
their  pain ; — these,  and  the  blue  sky  above  you,  and  the 
1 fieXirdecraa,  didXwv  y ^p€K€v.° 


INTRODUCTION 


15 


sweet  waters  and  flowers  of  the  earth  beneath  ; and  mys- 
teries and  presences,  innumerable,  of  living  things,  — 
may  }^et  be  here  your  riches ° : untormenting  and  divine  : 
seviceable  for  the  life  that  now  is  ; nor,  it  may  be,  without 
promise  of  that  which  is  to  come.® 


LECTURE  I 

WORK 

Delivered  before  the  Working  Men^s  Institute y at  Camber^ 
well  [1865] 

17.  My  Friends,  — I have  not  come  among  you  to- 
night to  endeavor  to  give  you  an  entertaining  lecture; 
but  to  tell  you  a few  plain  facts,  and  ask  you  a few  plain 
questions.®  I have  seen  and  known  too  much  of  the 
struggle  for  life  among  our  laboring  population,  to  feel  at  5 
ease,  under  any  circumstances,  in  inviting  them  to  dwell 
on  the  trivialities  of  my  own  studies;  but,  much  more, 
as  I meet  to-night,  for  the  first  time,  the  members  of  a 
working  Institute  established  in  the  district  in  which  I 
have  passed  the  greater  part  of  my  life,  I am  desirous  10 
that  we  should  at  once  understand  each  other,  on  graver 
matters.  I would  fain  tell  you,  with  what  feelings,  and 
with  what  hope,  I regard  this  Institute,  as  one  of  many 
such,  now  happily  established  throughout  England,  as 
well  as  in  other  countries ; and  preparing  the  way  for  a 15 
great  change  in  all  the  circumstances  of  industrial  life; 
but  of  which  the  success  must  wholly  depend  upon  our 
clearly  understanding  the  conditions,  and  above  all,  the 
necessary  limits  of  this  change.  No  teacher  can  truly 
c 17 


18 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


promote  the  cause  of  education,  until  he  knows  the  mode 
of  life  for  which  that  education  is  to  prepare  his  pupil. 
And  the  fact  that  he  is  called  upon  to  address  you,  nomi- 
nall}^,  as  a ‘AVorking  Class/^  must  compel  him,  if  he  is 
5 in  any  wise  earnest  or  thoughtful,  to  inquire  in  the  outset, 
on  what  you  yourselves  suppose  this  class  distin^ction  has 
been  founded  in  the  past,  and  must  be  founded  in  the 
future.  The  manner  of  the  amusement,  and  the  matter 
of  the  teaching,  which  any  of  us  can  offer  you,  must 
lo  depend  wholly  on  our  first  understanding  from  you, 
whether  you  think  the  distinction  heretofore  drawn  be- 
tween working  men  and  others  is  truly  or  falsely  founded. 
Do  you  accept  it  as  it  stands  ? do  you  wish  it  to  be  modi- 
fied ? or  do  you  think  the  object  of  education  is  to  efface 
15  it,  and  make  us  forget  it  forever? 

18.  Let  me  make  myself  more  distinctly  understood. 
We  call  this  — you  and  I — a “Working  Men^s^^  Insti- 
tute, and  our  college  in  London,  a “Working  Men^s^^ 
College.  Now,  how  do  you  consider  that  these  several 
20  institutes  differ,  or  ought  to  differ,  from  “idle  men’s 
institutes  and  “idle  men’s”  colleges?  Or  by  what  other 
word  than  “idle”  shall  I distinguish  those  whom  the 
happiest  and  wisest  of  working  men  do  not  object  to  call 
the  “ Upper  Classes  ” ? Are  there  necessarily  upper  classes  ? 
25  necessarily  lower®  ? How  much  should  those  always  be 
elevated,  how  much  these  always  depressed  ? And  I pray 
those  among  my  audience  who  chance  to  occupy,  at 
present,  the  higher  position,  to  forgive®  me  what  offence 
there  may  be  in  what  I am  going  to  say.  It  is  not  / who 
30  wish  to  say  it.  Bitter  voices  say  it ; voices  of  battle  and 
of  famine  through  all  the  world,  which  must  be  heard 
some  day,  whoever  keeps  silence.  Neither,  as  you  well 
know,  is  it  to  you  specially  that  I say  it.  I am  sure  that 


WOBK 


19 


most  now  present  know  their  duties  of  kindness,  and  fulfil 
them,  better  perhaps  than  I do  mine.  But  I speak  to  you 
as  representing  your  whole  class,  which  errs,  I know, 
chiefly  by  thoughtlessness,  but  not  therefore  the  less  terri- 
bly. Wilful  error  is  limited  by  the  will,  but  what  limit  5 
is  there  to  that  of  which  we  are  unconscious? 

19.  Bear  with  me,  therefore,  while  I turn  to  these 
workmen,  and  ask  them  what  they  think®  the  upper 
classes  are,  and  ought  to  be,  in  relation  to  them.  An- 
swer, you  workmen  who  are  here,  as  you  would  among  ic 
yourselves,  frankly ; and  tell  me  how  you  would  have  me 
call  your  employers.®  Am  I to  call  them  — would  you 
think  me  right  in  calling  them  — the  idle  classes®  ? I think 
you  would  feel  somewhat  uneasy,  and  as  if  I were  not 
treating  my  subject  honestly,  or  speaking  from  my  heart,  15 
if  I proceeded  in  my  lecture  under  the  supposition  that 
all  rich  people  were  idle.  You  would  be  both  unjust  and 
unwise  if  you  allowed  me  to  say  that ; — not  less  unjust 
than  the  rich  people  who  say  that  all  the  poor  are  idle, 
and  will  never  work  if  they  can  help  it,  or  more 

they  can  help. 

20. ^®  For  indeed  the  fact  is,  that  there  are  idle  poor 
and  idle  rich ; and  there  are  busy  poor  and  busy  rich. 
Many  a beggar  is  as  lazy  as  if  he  had  ten  thousand  a year ; 
and  many  a man  of  large  fortune  is  busier  than  his  errand-  25 
boy,  and  never  would  think  of  stopping  in  the  street  to 
play  marbles.®  So  that,  in  a large  view,  the  distinction 
between  workers  and  idlers,  as  between  knaves  and  honest 
men,  runs  through  the  very  heart  and  innermost  nature 
of  men  of  all  ranks  and  in  all  positions.  There  is  a work-  30 

^ Note  this  paragraph.  I cannot  enough  wonder  at  the  want 
of  common  charity  which  blinds  so  many  people  to  the  quite 
simple  truth  to  vrhich  it  refers. 


20 


THE  GROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


ing  class  — strong  and  happy,  — among  both  rich  and 
poor ; there  is  an  idle  class  — weak,  wicked,  and  miser- 
able, — among  both  rich  and  poor.  And  the  worst  of 
the  misunderstandings  arising  between  the  two  orders 
5 come  of  the  unlucky  fact  that  the  wise  of  one  class  [how 
little  wise  in  this  !]°  habitually  contemplate  the  foolish  of 
the  other.  If  the  busy  rich  people  watched  and  rebuked 
the  idle  rich  people,  all  would  be  right  among  them^ : and 
if  the  busy  poor  people  watched  and  rebuked  the  idle  poor 
lo  people,  all  would  be  right  among  them.  But  each  looks® 
for  the  faults  of  the  other.  A hard-working  man  of 
property  is  particularly  offended  by  an  idle  beggar;  and 
an  orderly,  but  poor,  workman  is  naturally  intolerant  of 
the  licentious  luxury  of  the  rich.  And  what  is  severe 
^5  judgment  in  the  minds  of  the  just  men  of  either  class, 
becomes  fierce  enmity  in  the  unjust  — but  among  the 
unjust  only.  None  but  the  dissolute  among  the  poor  look 
upon  the  rich  as  their  natural  enemies,  or  desire  to  pillage 
their  houses  and  divide  their  property.  None  but  the 
20  dissolute  among  the  rich  speak  in  opprobrious  terms  of 
the  vices  and  follies  of  the  poor. 

21.  There  is,  then,  no  worldly  distinction®  between 
idle  and  industrious  people;  and  I am  going  to-night  to 
speak  only  of  the  industrious.  The  idle  people  we  will  put 

25  out  of  our  thoughts  at  once  — they  are  mere  nuisances  — 
what  ought  to  be  done  with  them,  wedl  talk  of  at  another 
time.  But  there  are  class  distinctions  among  the  in- 
dustrious themselves ; — tremendous  distinctions,  which 
rise  and  fall  to  every  degree  in  the  infinite  thermometer  of 
30  human  pain  and  of  human  power,  — distinctions  of  high 
and  low,  of  lost  and  won,  to  the  whole  reach  of  man^s  soul 
and  body. 

22.  These  separations  we  will  study,  and  the  laws  of 


WORK 


21 


them,  among  energetic  men  only,  who,  whether  they  work 
or  whether  they  play,  put  their  strength  into  the  work, 
and  their  strength  into  the  game ; being  in  the  full  sense  of 
the  word  industrious,^^  one  way  or  another,  — with 
purpose,  or  without.  And  these  distinctions  are  mainly  5 
four : — 

I.  Between  those  who  work,  and  those  who  play. 

II.  Between  those  who  produce  the  means  of  life,  and 
those  who  consume  them. 

III.  Between  those  who  work  with  the  head,  and  those  10 
who  work  with  the  hand. 

IV.  Between  those  who  work  wisely,  and  those  who 
work  foolishly. 

For  easier  memor}^,  let  us  say  we  are  going  to  oppose,  in 
our  examination,  — 15 

I.  Work  to  play ; 

II.  Production  to  consumption ; 

III.  Head  to  hand  ; and, 

IV.  Sense  to  nonsense. 

23.  I.  First,  then,  of  the  distinction  between  the  20 
classes  who  work  and  the  classes  who  play.  Of  course  we 
must  agree  upon  a definition ° of  these  terms,  — work  and 
play,  — before  going  farther.  Now,  roughly,  not  with 
vain  subtlety  of  definition,  but  for  plain  use  of  the  words, 
“play^^  is  an  exertion  of  body  or  mind,  made  to  please  25 
ourselves,  and  with  no  determined  end;  and  work  is  a 
thing  done  because  it  ought  to  be  done,  and  with  a deter- 
mined end.  You  play,  as  you  call  it,°  at  cricket,  for  in- 
stance. That  is  as  hard  work  as  anything  else;  but  it 
amuses  you,  and  it  has  no  result  but  the  amusement.  If  30 
it  were  done  as  an  ordered  form  of  exercise,  for  health^s 
sake,  it  would  become  work  directly.  So,  in  like  manner, 
whatever  we  do  to  please  ourselves,  and  only  for  the  sake 


22 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


of  the  pleasure,  not  for  an  ultimate  object,  is  ^^play,^^  the 
pleasing  thing, not  the  useful  thing.  Play  may  be  use- 
ful in  a secondary  sense  (nothing  is  indeed  more  useful  or 
necessary) ; but  the  use  of  it  depends  on  its  being  sponta- 
5 neous. 

24.°  Let  us,  then,  inquire  together  what  sort  of  games 
the  playing  class  in  England  spend  their  lives  in  playing  at. 

The  first  of  all  English  games  is  making  money.  That 
is  an  all-absorbing  game ; and  we  knock  each  other  down 
lo  oftener  in  playing  at  that  than  at  football,  or  any  other 
roughest  sport;  and  it  is  absolutely  without  purpose; 
no  one  who  engages  heartily  in  that  game  ever  knows  why. 
Ask  a great  money-maker  what  he  wants  to  do  with  his 
mone\^  — he  never  knows.  He  doesnT  make  it  to  do 
15  anything  with  it.  He  gets  it  only  that  he  may  get  it. 
^AVhat  will  you  make  of  what  you  have  got?^^  you  ask. 
^^Well,  111  get  more,^^°  he  says.  Just  as,  at  cricket,  you 
get  more  runs.  There ^s  no  use  in  the  runs,  but  to  get  more 
of  them  than  other  people  is  the  game.  And  there ^s  no 
20  use  in  the  money,  but  to  have  more  of  it  than  other  people 
is  the  game.  So  all  that  great  foul  city  of  London  there,  — 
rattling,  growling,  smoking,  stinking,  — a ghastly  heap  of 
fermenting  brickwork,  pouring  out  poison  at  every  pore, 
— you  fancy  it  is  a city  of  work  ? Not  a street  of  it ! It  is 
25  a great  city  of  play  ;■  very  nasty  play,  and  very  hard  play, 
but  still  play.  It  is  only  Lord’s  cricket  ground  without 
the  turf,  — a huge  billiard  table  without  the  cloth,  and 
with  pockets  as  deep  as  the  bottomless  pit ; but  mainly  a 
billiard  table,  after  all. 

30  25.  Well,  the  first  great  English  game  is  this  playing 

at  counters.  It  differs  from  the  rest  in  that  it  appears 
always  to  be  producing  money,  while  every  other  game  is 
expensive.  But  it  does  not  always  produce  money. 


WORK 


23 


There^s  a great  difference  between  winning  money  and 
“ making  it ; a great  difference  between  getting  it  out  of 
another  man^s  pocket  into  ours,  or  filling  both.® 

26.  Our  next  great  English  games,  however,  hunting 

and  shooting,  are  costly  altogether ; and  hoAv  much  we  are  5 
fined  for  them  annually  in  land,  horses,  gamekeepers,  and 
game  laws,  and  the  resultant  demoralization  of  ourselves, 
our  children,  and  our  retainers,®  and  all  else  that  accom- 
panies that  beautiful®  and  special  English  game,  1 will  not 
endeavor  to  count  now : but  note  onl}^  that,  except  for 
exercise,  this  is  not  merely  a useless  game,  but  a deadly 
one,  to  all  connected  with  it.  For  through  horse-racing, 
you  get  every  form  of  what  the  higher  classes  everywhere 
call  ^^Play,^^  in  distinction  from  all  other  plays;  that 
is,  gambling®;  and  through  game-preserving,  you  get  also  15 
some  curious  laying  out  of  ground ; that  beautiful  arrange- 
ment of  dwelling-house  for  man  and  beast,  by  which  we 
have  grouse  and  black-cock  — so  many  brace  to  the  acre, 
and  men  and  women  — so  many  brace®  to  th.  >;arret.  I 
often  wonder  what  the  angelic  builders  and  surveyors  — 20 
the  angelic  builders  who  build  the  ^^nany  mansions up 
above  there;  and  the  angelic  surveyors,  who  measured 
that  four-square  city®  with  their  measuring  reeds  — I 
wonder  what  they  think,  or  are  supposed  to  think,  of  the 
laying  out  of  ground  by  this  nation.^  25 

27.  Then,  next  to  the  gentlemen^s  game  of  hunting, 
we  must  put  the  ladies^  game  of  dressing.  It  is  not  the 
cheapest  of  games.®  And  I wish  I could  tell  you  what  this 
^^play^^  costs,  altogether,  in  England,  France,  and  Russia 

^ The  subject  is  pursued  at  some  length  in  Fors  Clavigera  for 
March,  1873;  but  I have  not  yet  properly  stated  the  opposite  side 
of  the  question  nor  insisted  on  the  value  of  uncultivated  land  to 
the  national  health  of  body  and  mind. 


24 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


annually.  But  it  is  a pretty  game,  and  on  certain  terms 
I like  it;  nay,  I don^t  see  it  played  quite  as  much  as  I 
would  fain  have  it.  You  ladies  like  to  lead  the  fashion : — • 
by  all  means  lead  it  — lead  it  thoroughly,  — lead  it  far 
5 enough.  Dress  yourselves  nicely,  and  dress  everybody 
else  nicely.  Lead  fashions  for  the  poor  first ; make  them 

look  well,  and  you  yourselves  will  look,  in  ways  of  which 
you  have  now  no  conception,  all  the  better.  The  fashions 
you  have  set°  for  some  time  among  your  peasantry  are  not 
ic?  pretty  ones ; their  doublets  are  too  irregularly  slashed,  or 
as  Chaucer  calls  it  ^^all  toslittered,^^  though  not  for 
'^queintise,^^°  and  the  wind  blows  too  frankly  through 
them. 

28.  Then  there  are  other  games,  wild  enough,  as  I 
15  could  show  you  if  I had  time. 

There ^s  playing  at  literature,  and  playing  at  art ; — very 
different,  both,  from  working  at  literature,  or  working  at 
art,  but  I\^e  no  time  tc  zpeak  of  these.  I pass  to  the  great- 
est of  all,  — the  play  of  plays,  the  great  gentlemen’s  game, 
20  which  ladies  like  them  best  to  play  at,  — the  game  of  War. 
It  is  entrancingly  pleasant  to  the  imagination® ; we  dress 
for  it,  however,  more  finely  than  for  any  other  sport ; and 
go  out  to  it,  not  merely  in  scarlet,  as  to  hunt,  but  in  scarlet 
and  gold,  and  all  manner  of  fine  colors ; of  course  we  could 
25  fight  better  in  gray,  and  without  feathers ; but  all  nations 
have  agreed  that  it  is  good  to  be  well  dressed  at  this  play. 
Then  the  bats  and  balls®  are  very  costly ; our  English  and 
French  bats,  with  the  balls  and  wickets,  even  those  which 
we  don’t  make  any  use  of,  costing,  I suppose,  now,  about 
30  fifteen  millions  of  money  annually  to  each  nation ; all 
which  you  know  is  paid  for  by  hard  laborer’s  work  in  the 
furrow  and  furnace.  A costly  game  ! — not  to  sj)eak  of 
its  consequences;  I will  say  at  present  nothing  of  these 


WORK 


25 


The  mere  immediate  cost  of  all  these  plays  is  what  I want 
you  to  consider ; they  are  all  paid  for  in  deadly  work  some- 
where, as  many  of  us  know  too  well.  The  jewel-cutter, 
whose  sight  fails  over  the  diamonds;  the  weaver,  whose 
arm  fails  over  the  web ; the  iron-forger,  whose  breath  fails  5 
before  the  furnace  — they  know  what  work  is  — they,  who 
have  all  the  work,  and  none  of  the  play,  except  a kind  they 
have  named  for  themselves  down  in  the  black  north  coun- 
try, where  ^^play'^  means  being  laid  up  by  sickness.  It 
is  a pretty  example  for  philologists,  ° of  varying  dialect,  10 
this  change  in  the  sense  of  the  word,  as  used  in  the  black 
country  of  Birmingham,®  and  the  red  and  black  country 
of  Baden  Baden.®  Yes,  gentlemen,  and  gentlewomen,  of 
England,  who  think  ^^one  moment  unamused  a misery,  not 
made  for  feeble  man,^^  this  is  what  you  have  brought  the  15 
word  ^‘play^Ho  mean,  in  the  heart  of  merry  England! 
You  may  have  your  fluting  and  piping ; but  there  are  sad 
children  sitting  in  the  market-place,  who  indeed  cannot 
say  to  you,  “We  have  piped  unto  you,  and  ye  have  not 
danced®  but  eternally  shall  say  to  you,  “We  have  20 
mourned  unto  you,  and  ye  have  not  lamented.^' 

29.  This,  then,  is  the  first  distinction  between  the 
“upper  and  lower classes.  And  this  is  one  which  is  by 
no  means  necessary;  which  indeed  must,  in  process  of 
good  time,  be  by  all  honest  men^s  consent  abohshed.  Men  25 
will  be  taught  that  an  existence  of  play,  sustained  by  the 
blood  of  other  creatures,  is  a good  existence  for  gnats  and 
jelly-fish® ; but  not  for  men : that  neither  days,  nor  lives, 
can  be  made  holy  or  noble  by  doing  nothing  in  them : that 
the  best  prayer  at  the  beginning  of  a day  is  that  we  may  30 
not  lose  its  moments ; and  the  best  grace  before  meat,  the 
consciousness  that  we  have  justly  earned  our  dinner.  And 
when  we  have  this  much  of  plain  Christianity  preached  to 


26 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


us  again,  and  cease  to  translate  the  strict  words,®  ^^Son,  gc 
work  to-day  in  my  vineyard,^^®  into  the  dainty  ones: 
^^Baby,  go  play  to-day  in  my  vineyard,^^  we  shall  all  be 
workers,  in  one  way  or  another ; and  this  much  at  least  of 
5 the  distinction  between  upper  and  ‘dower  forgotten. 

30.  II.  I pass  then  to  our  second  distinction ; between 
the  rich  and  poor,  between  Dives  and  Lazarus,®  — dis- 
tinction which  exists  more  sternly,  I suppose,  in  this  day, 
than  ever  in  the  world.  Pagan  or  Christian,  till  now. 
lo  Consider,  for  instance,  what  the  general  tenor  of  such  a 
paper  as  the  Morning  Post  implies  of  delicate  luxury 
among  the  rich ; and  then  read  this  chance  extract®  from 
it : — 

“Yesterday  morning,  at  eight  o^clock,  a woman,  pass- 
15  ing  a dung-heap  in  the  stone-yard  near  the  recently  erected 
almshouses  in  Sha dwell  Gap,  High  Street,  Shadwell,  called 
the  attention  of  a Thames  police-constable  to  a man  in  a 
sitting  position  on  the  dung-heap,  and  said  she  was  afraid 
he  was  dead.  Her  fears  proved  to  be  true.  The  wretched 
20  creature  appeared  to  have  been  dead  several  hours.  He 
had  perished  of  cold  and  wet,  and  the  rain  had  been  beat- 
ing down  on  him  all  night.  The  deceased  was  a bone- 
picker.®  He  was  in  the  lowest  stage  of  poverty,  poorly 
clad,  and  half -starved.  The  police  had  frequently  driven 
25  him  away  from  the  stone-yard,  between  sunset  and  sunrise, 
and  told  him  to  go  home.  He  selected  a most  desolate 
spot  for  his  wretched  death.  A penny  and  some  bones 
were  found  in  his  pockets.  The  deceased  was  between  fifty 
and  sixty  years  of  age.  Inspector  Roberts,  of  the  K 
30  division,  has  given  directions  for  inquiries  to  be  made  at 
the  lodging-houses  respecting  the  deceased,  to  ascertain 
his  identitv  if  possible.'^ — Morning  Postj  November  25. 
1864. 


WORK 


27 


Compare  the  statement  of  the  finding  bones  in  his 
pocket  with  the  following,  from  the  Telegraph  of  Janu- 
ary 16  of  this  year : — 

Again,  the  dietary  scale  for  adult  and  juvenile  paupers 
was  drawn  up  by  the  most  conspicuous  political  econo-  s 
mists  in  England.  It  is  low  in  quantity,  but  it  is  sufficient 
to  support  nature;  yet  within  ten  years  of  the  passing  of 
the  Poor  Law  Act,®  we  heard  of  the  paupers  in  the  Andover 
Union  gnawing  the  scraps  of  putrid  flesh  and  sucking  the 
marrow  from  the  bones®  of  horses  which  they  were  em-  ic 
ployed  to  crush. 

You  see  my  reason  for  thinking  that  our  Lazarus  of 
Christianity  has  some  advantage  over  the  Jewish  one. 
Jewish  Lazarus  expected,  or  at  least  prayed,  to  be  fed  with 
crumbs  from  the  rich  man^s  table®;  but  our  Lazarus  is  fed  15 
with  crumbs  from  the  dog’s  table. 

31.  Now  this  distinction  between  rich  and  poor  rests  on 
two  bases.  Within  its  proper  limits,  on  a basis  which  is 
lawful  and  everlastingly  necessary;  beyond  them,  on  a 
basis  unlawful,  and  everlastingly  corrupting  the  frame-  20 
work  of  society.  The  lawful  basis  of  wealth  is,  that  a 
man  who  v/orks  should  be  paid  the  fair  value  of  his  work ; 
and  that  if  he  does  not  choose  to  spend  it  to-day,  he  should 
have  free  leave  to  keep  it,  and  spend  it  to-morrow.  Thus, 
an  industrious  man  working  daily,  and  laying  by  daily,  25 
attains  at  last  the  possession  of  an  accumulated  sum  of 
wealth,  to  which  he  has  absolute  right.  The  idle  person 
who  will  not  work,  and  the  wasteful  person  who  lays  noth- 
ing by,  at  the  end  of  the  same  time  will  be  doubly  poor  — 
poor  in  possession,  and  dissolute  in  moral  habit ; and  he  30 
will  then  naturally  covet  the  money  which  the  other  has 
saved.  And  if  he  is  then  allowed  to  attack  the  other,  and 
rob  him  of  his  well-earned  wealth,  there  is  no  more  any 


28 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


motive  for  saving,  or  any  reward  for  good  conduct ; and  all 
society  is  thereupon  dissolved,  or  exists  only  in  systems 
of  rapine.®  Therefore  the  first  necessity  of  social  life  is 
the  clearness  of  national  conscience  in  enforcing  the  law  — 
5 that  he  should  keep  who  has  justly  earned. 

32.  That  law,  I say,  is  the  proper  basis  of  distinction 
between  rich  and  poor.  But  there  is  also  a false  basis  of 
distinction;  namely,  the  power  held  over  those  who  are 
earning®  wealth  by  those  who  already  possess  it,  and  only 
lo  use  it  to  gain  more.®  There  will  be  always  a number  of 
men  who  would  fain  set  themselves  to  the  accumulation  of 
wealth  as  the  sole  object  of  their  lives.  Necessarily,  that 
class  of  men  is  uneducated  class,  inferior  in  intellect, 
and  more  or  less  cowardly.  It  is  physically  impossible  for 
15a  well-educated,  intellectual,  or  brave  man  to  make  money 
the  chief  object  of  his  thoughts;  just  as  it  is  for  him  to 
make  his  dinner  the  principal  object  of  them.  All  healthy 
people  like  their  dinners,  but  their  dinner  is  not  the  main 
object  of  their  lives.  So  all  healthily-minded  people  like 
20  making  money  — ought  to  like  it,  and  to  enjoy  the  sensa- 
tion of  winning  it ; but  the  main  object  of  their  life  is  not 
money;  it  is  something  better  than  money.  A good 
soldier,  for  instance,  mainly  wishes  to  do  his  fighting  well. 
He  is  glad  of  his  pay  — very  properly  so,  and  justly  grum- 
25  bles  when  you  keep  him  ten  years  without  it®  — still,  his 
main  notion  of  life  is  to  win  battles,  not  to  be  paid  for  win- 
ning them.  So  of  clergymen.  They  like  pew-rents,  and 
baptismal  fees,  of  course;  but  yet,  if  they  are  brave  and 
well-educated,  the  pew-rent  is  not  the  sole  object  of  their 
30  lives,  and  the  baptismal  fee  is  not  the  sole  purpose  of  the 
baptism ; the  clergyman's  object®  is  essentially  to  baptize 
and  preach,  not  to  be  paid  for  preaching.  So  of  doctors. 
They  like  fees®  no  doubt,  — ought  to  like  them ; yet  if 


WORK 


29 


they  are  brave  and  well-educated,  the  entire  object  of 
their  lives  is  not  fees.  They,  on  the  whole,  desire  to  cure 
the  sick ; and,  — if  they  are  good  doctors,  and  the  choice 
were  fairly  put  to  them,  — would  rather  cure  their  patient 
and  lose  their  fee,  than  kill  him,  and  get  it.  And  so  with  5 
all  other  brave  and  rightly-trained  men ; their  work  is  first, 
their  fee  second  — very  important  always,  but  still  second. 
But  in  every  nation,  as  I said,  there  are  a vast  class  who 
are  ill-educated,  cowardly,  and  more  or  less  stupid.  And 
with  these  people,  just  as  certainly  the  fee  is  first,  and  the  ic 
work  second,  as  with  brave  people  the  w^ork  is  first  and  the 
fee  second.  And  this  is  no  small  distinction.  It  is  between 
life  and  death  in  a man,  between  heaven  and  hell /or  him. 
You  cannot  serve  two  masters® : — you  must  serve  one  or 
other.  If  your  work  is  first  with  you,  and  your  fee  second,  15 
work  is  your  master,  and  the  lord  of  work,  who  is  God. 
But  if  your  fee  is  first  with  you,  and  your  work  second,  fee 
is  your  master,  and  the  lord  of  fee,  who  is  the  Devil ; and 
not  only  the  Devil,  but  the  lowest  of  devils  — the  ‘deast 
erected  fiend  that  fell.^^®  So  there  you  have  it  in  brief  20 
terms : Work  first  — you  are  God^s  servants ; Fee  first  — 
you  are  the  Fiend  ^s.  And  it  makes  a difference,  now  and 
ever,  believe  me,  whether  you  serve  Him  who  has  on  His 
vesture  and  thigh  written,  ^^King  of  Kings,^^®  and  whose 
service  is  perfect  freedom ; or  him  on  whose  vesture  and  25 
thigh  the  name  is  written,  “Slave  of  Slaves,^'  and  whose 
service  is  perfect  slavery. 

33.  However  in  every  nation  there  are,  and  must  al- 
ways be,  a certain  number  of  these  Fiend  ^s  servants,  who 
have  it  principally  for  the  object  of  their  lives  to  make  3c 
money.  They  are  always,  as  I said,  more  or  less  stupid, 
and  cannot  conceive  of  anything  else  so  nice  as  money. 
Stupidity  is  always  the  basis  of  the  Judas  bargain.®  We 


30 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


do  great  injustice  to  Iscariot, ° in  thinking  him  wicked 
above  all  common  wickedness.  He  was  only  a common 
mone3^over,  and,  like  all  money-lovers,  did  not  under- 
stand Christ ; — could  not  make  out  the  worth  of  Him,  or 
5 meaning  of  Him.  He  never  thought  He  would  be  killed.® 
He  was  horror-struck  when  he  found  that  Christ  would  be 
killed ; threw  his  mone}"  away  instantly,  and  hanged  him- 
self. How  many  of  our  present  money-seekers,  think 
you,  would  have  the  grace  to  hang  themselves,  whoever 
10  was  killed?  But  Judas  was  a common,  selfish,  muddle- 
headed,  pilfering  fellow;  his  hand  always  in  the  bag  of 
the  poor,  not  caring  for  them.  Helpless  to  understand 
Christ,®  yet  believed  in  Him,  much  more  than  most  of 
us  do ; had  seen  Him  do  miracles,  thought  He  was  quite 
15  strong  enough  to  shift  for  Himself,  and  he,  Judas,  might 
as  well  make  his  own  little  by-perquisites  out  of  the  affair. 
Christ  would  come  out  of  it  well  enough,®  and  he  have  his 
thirty"  pieces.  Now,  that  is  the  money-seeker ^s  idea,  all 
over  the  world.  He  doesn't  hate  Christ,  but  can't  under- 
20  stand  Him  — doesn't  care  for  Him  — sees  no  good  in  that 
benevolent  business ; makes  his  own  little  job  out  of  it  at 
all  events,  come  what  will.  And  thus,  out  of  every  mass 
of  men,  you  have  a certain  number  of  bagmen  — \mur 
‘‘fee-first"  men,  whose  main  object  is  to  make  money. 
25  And  they  do  make  it  — make  it  in  all  sorts  of  unfair  ways, 
chiefly  by  the  weight  and  force  of  money  itself,  or  what  is 
called  the  power  of  capital;  that  is  to  say,  the  power 
which  money,  once  obtained,  has  over  the  labor  of  the  poor, 
so  that  the  capitalist  can  take  all  its  produce  to  himself, 
30  except  the  laborer's  food.  That  is  the  modern  Judas's 
way  of  “carrying  the  bag,"®  and  “bearing  what  is  put 
therein." 

34.  Nay,  but  (it  is  asked)  how  is  that  an  unfair  advan- 


WORK 


31 


tage?  Has  not  the  man  who  has  worked  for  the  money  a 
right  to  use  it  as  he  best  can?  No,  in  this  respect,  money 
is  now  exactly  what  mountain  promontories  over  public 
roads  were  in  old  times.  The  barons  fought  for  them 
fairly:  — the  strongest  and  cunningest®  got  them;  then  5 
fortified  them,  and  made  every  one  who  passed  below  pay 
toll.  Well,  capital  now  is  exactly  what  crags  were  then. 
j\Ien  fight  fairly  (we  will,  at  least,  grant  so  much,  though 
it  is  more  than  we  ought)  for  their  money ; but,  once  hav- 
ing got  it,  the  fortified  millionaire  can  make  ever}^body  lo 
who  passes  below  pay  toll  to  his  million,  and  build  another 
tovv^er  of  his  money  castle.  And  I can  tell  you,  the  poor 
vagrants  by  the  roadside  suffer  now  quite  as  much  from 
the  bag-baron,  as  ever  they  did  from  the  crag-baron. 
Bags  and  crags  have  just  the  same  result  on  rags.°  I have  : 
not  time,  however,  to-night  to  show  you  in  how  man;\- 
ways  the  power  of  capital  is  unjust;  but  remember  thi> 
one  great  principle®  — you  will  find  it  unfailing®  — that 
whenever  money  is  the  principal  object  of  life  with  either 
man  or  nation,  it  is  both  got  ill,  and  spent  ill ; and  doe 
harm  both  in  the  getting  and  spending ; but  when  it  is  not 
the  principal  object,  it  and  all  other  things  will  be  well  got 
and  well  spent.  And  here  is  the  test,  .with  every  man,  of 
whether  money  is  the  principal  object  with  him,  or  not. 

If  in  mid-life  he  could  pause  and  say,  “Now  I have  enough  25 
to  live  upon.  Til  live  upon  it ; and  having  well  earned  it, 

I will  also  well  spend  it,  and  go  out  of  the  world  poor,  as  I 
came  into  it,^^  then  money  is  not  principal  with  him ; but 
if,  having  enough  to  live  upon  in  the  manner  befitting  his 
character  and  rank,  he  still  wants  to  make  more,  and  to  30 
die  rich,  then  money  is  the  principal  object  with  him,  and 
it  becomes  a curse  to  him.self,  and  generally  to  those  who 
spend  it  after  him.  For  you  know  it  mvst  be  spent  some 


32 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


day ; the  only  question  is  whether  the  man  who  makes  it 
shall  spend  it,  or  some  one  else,  and  generally  it  is  better 
for  the  maker  to  spend  it,  for  he  will  know  best  its  value 
and  use/^  And  if  a man  does  not  choose  thus  to  spend  his 
5 money,  tie  must  either  hoard  it  or  lend  it,  and  the  worst 
thing  he  can  generally  do  is  to  lend  it ; for  borrowers  are 
nearly  always  ill-spenders,  and  it  is  with  lent  money  that 
all  evil  is  mainly  done,  and  all  unjust  war  protracted. 

35.  For  observe  what  the  real  fact  is,  respecting  loans 
loto  foreign  military  governments,  and  how  strange  it 
is.  If  your  little  boy  came  to  you  to  ask  for  money 
to  spend  in  squibs  and  crackers,  you  would  think  twice 
before  jmu  gave  it  him,  and  you  would  have  some  idea 
that  it  was  wasted,  when  you  saw  it  fly  off  in  fireworks, 
15  even  though  he  did  no  mischief  with  it.  But  the  Russian 
children  and  Austrian  children  come  to  you,  borrowing 
money,  not  to  spend  in  innocent  squibs,  but  in  cartridges 
and  bayonets  to  attack  you  in  India  with,  and  to  keep 
down  all  noble  life  in  Italy  with,  and  to  murder  Polish 
20  women  and  children  with ; and  that  you  will  give  at  once, 
because  they  pay  you  interest  for  it.  Now,  in  order  to 
pay  you  that  interest,  they  must  tax  every  working  peas- 
ant in  their  dominions ; and  on  that  work  you  live.  You 
therefore  at  once  rob  the  Austrian  peasant,  assassinate  or 
25  banish  the  Polish  peasant,  and  you  live  on  the  produce  of 
the  theft,  and  the  bribe  for  the  assassination  ! That  is  the 
broad  fact  — that  is  the  practical  meaning  of  your  foreign 
loans,  and  of  most  large  interest  of  money ; and  then  you 
quarrel  with  Bishop  Colenso,®  forsooth,  as  if  he  denied  the 
30  Bible,  and  you  believed  it ! though,  every  deliberate  act 
of  your  lives  is  a new  defiance  of  its  i)rimary  orders.'^ 

3G.  III.  I must  pass,  however,  now  to  our  third  con- 
dition of  separation,  between  the  men  who  work  vrith  tlie 
hand  and  those  who  work  with  the  head.® 


WOHK 


33 


And  here  we  have  at  last  an  inevitable  distinction. 
There  must  be  work  done  by  the  arms,  or  none  of  us  could 
live.  There  must  be  work  done  by  the  brains,  or  the  life 
we  get  w^ould  not  be  worth  having.  And  the  same  men 
cannot  do  both.  There  is  rough  work  to  be  done,  and  5 
rough  men  must  do  it ; there  is  gentle  work  to  be  done,  and 
gentlemen  must  do  it;  and  it  is  physically  impossible 
that  one  class  should  do,  or  divide,  the  work  of  the  other. 
And  it  is  of  no  use  to  try  to  conceal  this  sorrowful  fact  by 
fine  words,  and  to  talk  to  the  workman  about  the  honor-  10 
ableness  of  manual  labor,  and  the  dignity  of  humanity.® 
Rough  work,  honorable  or  not,  takes  the  life  out  of  us; 
and  the  man  who  has  been  heaving  clay  out  of  a ditch  all 
day,  or  driving  an  express  train  against  the  north  wind  all 
night,  or  holding  a collier^s  helm®  in  a gale  on  a lee-shore,®  or  15 
whirling  white-hot  iron  at  a furnace  mouth,  is  not  the  same 
man  at  the  end  of  his  day,  or  night,  as  one  who  has  been 
sitting  ill  a quiet  room,  with  everything  comfortable  about 
him,  reading  books,  or  classing  butterflies,  or  painting 
pictures.®  ^ If  it  is  any  comfort  to  you  to  be  told  that  the  20 
rough  work  is  the  more  honorable  of  the  two,  I should  be 
sorry  to  take  that  much  of  consolation  from  you ; and  in 
some  sense  I need  not.  The  rough  work  is  at  all  events 
real,  honest,  and,  generally,  though  not  always,  useful; 
while  the  fine  work  is,  a great  deal  of  it,  foolish  and  false  25 
as  well  as  fine,  and  therefore  dishonorable : but  when  both 
kinds  are  equally  well  and  worthily  done,  the  head^s  is 
the  noble  work,  and  the  hand's  the  ignoble.®  Therefore, 
of  all  hand  work  whatsoever,  necessary  for  the  maintenance 
of  life,  those  old  words,  ^^In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  thou  30 
shalt  eat  bread,"®  indicate  that  the  inherent  nature  of  it  is 


D 


^ Compare  § 57. 


34 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


one  of  calamity : and  that  the  ground , cursed  for  our  sake, 
casts  also  some  shadow  of  degradation  into  our  contest  with 
its  thorn  and  its  thistle ; so  that  all  nations  have  held  their 
days  honorable,  or  “holy/^  and  constituted  them  holy- 
5 days^'  or  holidays/'  by  making  them  days  of  rest;  and 
the  promise,  which,  among  all  our  distant  hopes,  seems  to 
cast  the  chief  brightness  over  death,  is  that  blessing  of  the 
dead  who  die  in  the  Lord,  that  ^Hhey  rest  from  their  labors, 
and  their  works  do  follow  them/^° 
lo  37.  And  thus  the  perpetual  question  and  contest  must 
arise,  who  is  to  do  this  rough  work  ? and  how  is  the  worker 
of  it  to  be  comforted,  redeemed,  and  rewarded  ? and  what 
kind  of  play  should  he  have,  and  what  rest,  in  this  world, 
sometimes,  as  well  as  in  the  next?  Well,  my  good  labori- 
150US  friends,®  these  questions  will  take  a little  time  to 
answer  yet.  They  must  be  answered : all  good  men  are 
occupied  with  them,  and  all  honest  thinkers.  There^s 
grand  head  v/ork  doing®  about  them ; but  much  must  be 
discovered,  and  much  attempted  in  vain,  before  anything 
20  decisive  can  be  told  you.  Only  note  these  few  particulars, 
which  are  already  sure. 

38.  As  to  the  distribution  of  the  hard  work.  None  of 
us,  or  very  few  of  us,  do  either  hard  or  soft  work®  because 
we  think  we  ought ; but  because  we  have  chanced  to  fall 
25  into  the  way  of  it,  and  cannot  help  ourselves.®  Now,  no- 
body does  anything  well  that  they  cannot  help  doing: 
work  is  only  done  well  when  it  is  done  with  a will ; and  no 
man  has  a thoroughly  sound  will  unless  he  knows  he  is 
doing  what  he  should,  and  is  in  his  place.  And,  depend 
30  upon  it,  all  w6rk  must  be  done  at  last,  not  in  a disorderly, 
scrambling,  doggish  way,  but  in  an  ordered,  soldierly, 
human  way®  — a lawful  or  ‘MoyaL^  way.®  Men  are 
enlisted  for  the  labor  that  kills  — the  h^bov  of  war:  they 


WOEK 


35 


are  counted,  trained,  fed,  dressed,  and  praised  for  that. 
Let  them  be  enlisted  also  for  the  labor  that  feeds® : let 
them  be  counted,  trained,  fed,  dressed,  praised  for  that. 
Teach  the  plough  exercise  as  carefully  as  you  do  the  sword 
exercise,  and  let  the  officers  of  troops  of  life  be  held  as  5 
much  gentlemen  as  the  officers  of  troops  of  death ; and  all 
is  done : but  neither  this,  nor  any  othfer  right  thing,  can  be 
accomplished  — you  canT  even  see  your  way  to  it  — un- 
less, first  of  all,  both  servant  and  master  are  resolved  that, 
come  what  will  of  it,  they  will  do  each  other  justice.®  10 
39.  People  are  perpetually  squabbling  about  what  will 
be  best  to  do,  or  easiest  to  do,  or  advisablest  to  do,  or  profit- 
ablest  to  do ; but  they  never,  so  far  as  I hear  them  talk, 
ever  ask®  what  it  is  just  to  do.  And  it  is  the  law  of  heaven 
that  you  shall  not  be  able  to  judge  what  is  wise  or  easy,  15 
unless  you  are  first  resolved  to  judge  what  is  just,  and  to 
do  it.  That  is  the  one  thing  constantly  reiterated  by  our 
Master  — the  order  of  all  others  that  is  given  oftenest  — 
^‘Do  justice  and  judgment/^®  That^s  your  Bible  order; 
that^s  the  ^‘Service  of  God,^^  — not  praying  nor  psalm- 20 
singing.  You  are  told,  indeed,  to  sing  psalms®  when  you 
are  merry,  and  to  pray  when  you  need  anything®;  and, 
by  the  perverseness  of  the  Evil  Spirit,  we  get  to  think  that 
praying  and  psalm-singing  are  service. If  a child  finds 
itself  in  want  of  anything,  it  runs  in  and  asks  its  father  25 
for  it  — does  it  call  that  doing  its  father  a service  ? If  it 
begs  for  a toy  or  a piece  of  cake  — does  it  call  that  serving 
its  father?  That,  with  God,  is  prayer,  and  He  likes  to 
hear  it® : He  likes  you  to  ask  Him  for  cake  when  you  want 
it;  but  He  doesnT  call  that  ‘^serving  Him.^^  Begging  is 30 
not  serving : God  likes  mere  beggars  as  little  as  you  do  — 
He  likes  honest  servants,  not  beggars.  So  when  a child 
loves  its  father  very  much,  and  is  very  happy,  it  may  sing 


3G 


THE  CROWI:r  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


little  songs  about  him;  but  it  doesn’t  call  that  serving 
its  father®;  neither  is  singing  songs  about  God,  serving 
God.  It  is  enjoying  ourselves,  if  it^s  anything ; most  prob- 
ably it  is  nothing® ; but  if  it’s  anything,  it  is  serving  our- 
5 selves,  not  God.  And  yet  we  are  impudent  enough  to  call 
our  beggings  and  chantings  ^‘Divine  service:”  we  say 
^‘Divine  service  will  be  ^performed’”  (that’s  our  word  — 
the  form  of  it  gone  through)®  ‘^at  so-and-so  o’clock.”® 
Alas ! unless  we  perform  Divine  service  in  every  willing 
lo  act  of  life,  we  never  perform  it  at  all.  The  one  Divine 
work  — the  one  ordered  sacrifice  — is  to  do  justice ; and 
it  is  the  last  we  are  ever  inclined  to  do.  Anything  rather 
than  that ! As  much  charity®  as  you  choose,  but  no  justice. 
^^Nay,”  you  will  say,  charity  is  greater  than  justice.” 
15  Yes,  it  is  greater;  it  is  the  summit  of  justice  — it  is  the 
temple  of  which  justice  is  the  foundation.  But  you  can’t 
have  the  top  without  the  bottom ; you  cannot  build  upon 
charity.  You  must  build  upon  justice,  for  this  main 
reason,  that  you  have  not,  at  first,  charity  to  build  with. 
20  It  is  the  last  reward  of  good  work.  Do  justice  to  your 
brother  (you  can  do  that,  whether  you  love  him  or  not), 
and  you  will  come  to  love  him.  But  do  injustice  to  him, 
because  you  don’t  love  him®;  and  you  will  come  to  hate 
him. 

^5  40.  It  ‘3  all  very  fine  to  think  you  can  build  upon 

charity  to  begin  with;  but  you  will  find  all  you  will 
have  got®  to  begin  with,  begins  at  home,®  and  is  essen- 
tially love  of  yourself.  You  well-to-do  people,  for  in- 
stance, who  are  here  to-night,  will  go  to  Divine  service” 
30  next  Sunday,  all  nice  and  tidy,  and  your  little  children 
will  have  their  tight  little  Sunday  boots  on,  and  lovely 
little®  Sunday  feathers  in  their  hats;  and  you’ll  think, 
complacently  and  piously,  how  lovely  they  look  going 


WORK 


37 


to  church  in  their  best ! So  they  do  : and  you  love  them 
heartily,  and  you  like  sticking  feathers  in  their  hats, 
That^s  all  right : that  is  charity ; but  it  is  charity  begin- 
ning at  home.  Then  you  will  come  to  the  poor  little  cross- 
ing-sweeper,® got  up  also,  — it,  in  its  Sunday  dress,  — 5 
the  dirtiest  rags  it  has,  — that  it  may  beg  the  better : 
you  wull  give  it  a penny,  and  think  how  good  you  are,® 
and  how  good  God  is  to  prefer  your  child  to  the  crossing- 
sweeper  and  bestow  on  it  a divine  hat,  feathers,  and  boots, 
and  the  pleasure  of  giving  pence  instead  of  begging  for  ic 
them.®  That^s  charity  going  abroad.  But  what  does 
Justice  say,  walking  and  watching  near  us?  Christian 
Justice  has  been  strangely  mute,  and  seemingly  blind®; 
and,  if  not  blind,  decrepit,  this  many  a day : she  keeps  her 
accounts  still,  however  — quite  steadily  — doing  them  at  15 
nights,  carefully,  with  her  bandage  off,  and  through 
acutest  spectacles  (the  only  modern  scientific  invention 
she  cares  about).  You  must  put  your  ear  down  ever  so 
close  to  her  lips  to  hear  her  speak ; and  then  you  will  start 
at  what  she  first  whispers,  for  it  will  certainly  be,  Why  20 
shouldnT  that  little  crossing-sweeper  have  a feather  on 
its  head,  as  well  as  your  owm  child  ? Then  you  may  ask 
Justice,  in  an  amazed  manner,  ^^How  she  can  possibly  be 
so  foolish  as  to  think  children  could  sweep  crossings  with 
feathers  on  their  heads  ?^^®  Then  you  stoop  again,  and  25 
Justice  says  — still  in  her  dull,  stupid  way  — ‘‘Then, 
why  donT  you,  every  other  Sunday,  leave  your  child  to 
sweep  the  crossing,  and  take  the  little  sweeper  to  church 
in  a hat  and  feather  Mercy  on  us  (you  think),  what 
will  she  say  next?  Apd  you  answer,  of  course,  that  “you  30 
donff  , because  everybody  ought  to  remain  content  in  the 
position  in  which  Providence  has  placed  them.^^  Ah, 

my  friends,  that's  the  gist  of  the  whole  question.  Did 


38 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


Providence  put  them  in  that  position,  or  did  you?  You 
knock  a man  into  a ditch,  and  then  you  tell  him  to  remain 
content  in  the  position  in  which  Providence  has  placed 
him/'  That's  modern  Christianity.®  You  say  — 

5 did  not  knock  him  into  the  ditch."  We  shall  never  know 
what  you  have  done  or  left  undone,®  until  the  question 
with  us  every  morning,  is  not  how  to  do  the  gainful  thing, 
but  how  to  do  the  just  thing  during  the  day ; nor  until 
we  are  at  least  so  far  on  the  way  to  being  Christian,  as  to 
lo  acknowledge  that  maxim  of  the  poor  half-way  Mahometan, 
“One  hour  in  the  execution  of  justice  is  worth  seventy 
years  of  prayer." 

41.  Supposing,  then,  we  have  it  determined  with  ap- 
propriate justice,  who  is  to  do  the  hand  work,  the  next 
1 5 questions  must  be  how  the  hand-workers  are  to  be  paid, 
and  how  they  are  to  be  refreshed,  and  what  play  they  are 
to  have.  Now,  the  possible  quantity  of  play  depends  on 
the  possible  quantity  of  pay;  and  the  quantity  of  pay  is 
not  a matter  for  consideration  to  hand-workers  only,  but  to 
20  all  workers.  Generally,  good,  useful  work,  whether  of  the 
hand  or  head,  is  either  ill-paid,  or  not  paid  at  all.  I don't 
say  it  should  be  so,  but  it  always  is  so.  People,  as  a rule, 
only  pay  for  being  amused  or  being  cheated,®  not  for  being 
served.  Five  thousand  a year  to  your  talker,®  and  a 
25  shilling  a day  to  your  fighter,  digger,  and  thinker,  is  the 
rule.  None  of  the  best  head  work  in  art,  literature,  or 
science,  is  ever  paid  for.  How  much  do  you  think  Homer 
got  for  his  lliad^  9 or  Dante  for  his  Paradise^  9 only 
bitter  bread  and  salt,  and  going  up  and  down  other  people's 
stairs.  In  science',  the  man  who  discovered  the  telescope,® 
and  first  saw  heaven,  was  paid  witii  a dungeon;  the  man 
who  invented  tl'e  microsco]H‘,®  anci  fii‘st  saw  earth,  died 
of  starvation,  driven  from  his  home.  It  is  indeed  very 


WORK 


.^9 


clear  that  God  means  all  thoroughly  good  work  and  talk 
to  be  done  for  nothing. ° Baruch, ° the  scribe,  did  not 
get  a penny  a line  for  writing  Jeremiah^s  second  roll  for 
him,  I fancy;  and  St.  Stephen®  did  not  get  bishop ^s  pay 
for  that  long  sermon  of  his  to  the  Pharisees ; nothing  but  5 
stones.  For,  indeed,  that  is  the  world-father's®  proper 
payment.  So  surely  as  any  of  the  world's  children  work 
for  the  world's  good,  honestly,  with  head  and  heart ; and 
come  to  it,  saying,  ^‘Give  us  a little  bread,  just  to  keep 
the  life  in  us,"  the  world-father  answers  them,  ‘‘No,  my  10 
children,  not  bread;  a stone,®  if  you  like,  or  as  many  as 
you  need,  to  keep  you  quiet®  and  tell  to  future  ages,  how 
unpleasant  you  made  yourself  to  the  one  you  lived  in."® 
42.  But  the  hand-workers  are  not  so  ill  off  as  ail  this 
comes  to.  The  worst  that  can  happen  to  you  is  to  break  15 
stones ; not  be  broken  by  them.  And  for  }mu  there  will 
come  a time  for  better  payment® ; we  shall  pay  people  not 
quite  so  much  for  talking  in  Parliamient  and  doing  nothing, 
as  for  holding  their  tongues  out  of  it  and  doing  something ; 
we  shall  pay  our  ploughman  a little  more,  and  our  lawyer  20 
a little  less,  and  so  on : but,  at  least,  we  may  even  now  take 
care  that  whatever  work  is  done  shall  be  fully  paid  for ; 
and  the  man  who  does  it  paid  for  it,  not  somebody  else; 
and  that  it  shall  be  done  in  an  orderly,  soldierly,  well- 
guided,  wholesome  way,  under  good  captains  and  lieu-  25 
tenants  of  labor ; and  that  it  shall  have  its  appointed 
times  of  rest,  and  enough  of  them;  and  that  in  those 
times  the  play  shall  be  wholesome  play,  not  in  theatri- 
cal gardens,  with  tin  flowers  and  gas  sunshine,  and  girls 
dancing  because  of  their  misery ; but  in  true  gardens,  30 
with  real  flow^ers,  and  real  sunshine,  and  children  dancing 
because  of  their  gladness;  so  that  truly  the  streets  shall 
be  full  (the  “streets,"  mind  you,  not  the  gutters)  of 


40 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


children,  playing  in  the  midst  thereof.®  We  may  take 
care  that  working-men  shall  have  at  least  as  good  books 
to  read  as  anybody  else,  when  they  Ve  time  to  read  them ; 
and  as  comfortable  firesides  to  sit  at  as  anybody  else, 
5 when  theyVe  time  to  sit  at  them.  This,  I think,  can  be 
managed  for  you,  my  laborious  friends,®  in  the  good  time. 

43.  IV.  I must  go  on,  however,  to  our  last  head,  con- 
cerning ourselves  all,  as  workers.  What  is  wise  work,  and 
what  is  foolish  work®  ? What  the  difference  between  sense 
lo  and  nonsense,  in  daily  occupation  ? 

There  are  three  tests  of  wise  work:  — that  it  must  be 
honest,  useful,  and  cheerful. 

i.  It  is  HONEST.  I hardly  know  anything  more  strange 
than  that  you  recognize  honesty  in  play,  and  you  do  not 
IS  in  work.  In  your  lightest  games,  you  have  always  some 
one  to  see  what  you  call  “fair-play.^^  In  boxing,  you 
must  hit  fair;  in  racing,  start  fair.  Your  English  watch- 
word is  ^^iohx-play,^^  your  English  hatred,  ‘Toul-pZa?/.^’® 
Did  it  never®  strike  you  that  you  wanted  another  watch- 
20  word  also,  “fair-?rorA;,^^  and  another  and  bitterer®  hatred  — 
^^foul-icor/c^^  ® ? Your  prize-fighter  has  some  honor  in  him 
yet ; and  so  have  the  men  in  the  ring  round  him : they 
will  judge  him  to  lose  the  match,  by  foul  hitting.  But 
your  prize-merchant  gains  his  match  by  foul  selling,  and 
25  no  one  cries  out  against  that.  You  drive  a gambler  out  of 
the  gambling-room  who  loads  dice,®  but  you  leave  a trades- 
man in  flourishing  business  who  loads  scales® ! For  ob- 
serve, all  dishonest  dealing  is  loading  scales.  What 
difference  does  it  make®  whether  I get  short  weight,  adul- 
3oterate  substance,  or  dishonest  fabric?  — unless  that  flaw 
in  the  substance  or  fabric  is  the  worse  evil  of  the  two.® 
Give  me  short  measure  of  food,  and  I only  lose  by  you ; but 
give  me  adulterate  food,  an^i  I die  by  you.  Here,  then,  is 


WORK 


41 


your  chief  duty,  you  workmen  and  tradesmen  — to  be  true 
to  yourselves,  and  to  us  who  would  help  you.®  We  can 
do  nothing  for  you,  nor  you  for  yourselves,  without  hon- 
esty. Get  that,  you  get  all ; without  that,  your  suffrages, 
your  reforms,  your  free-trade  measures,  your  institutions 
of  science,  are  all  in  vain.  It  is  useless  to  put  ;^our  heads 
together,  if  you  can^t  put  your  hearts  together.  Shoulder 
to  shoulder,  right  hand  to  right  hand,  among  yourselves, 
and  no  wrong  hand®  to  anybody  else,  and  you  11  win  the 
world  yet. 

44.  ii.  Then,  secondly,  wise  work  is  useful.  No  man 
minds,  or  ought  to  mind,  its  being  hard,  if  only  it 
comes  to  something;  but  when  it  is  hard,  and  comes  to 
nothing;  when  all  our  bees^  business  turns  to  spiders^; 
and  for  honey-comb  we  have  only  resultant  cobweb, 
blown  away  by  the  next  breeze  — that  is  the  cruel  thing 
for  the  worker.  Yet  do  we  ever  ask  ourselves,  personally, 
or  even  nationally,  whether  our  work  is  coming  to  any- 
thing or  not  ? We  donT  care  to  keep  what  has  been  nobly 
done ; still  less  do  we  care  to  do  nobly  what  others  would 
keep ; and,  least  of  all,  to  make  the  work  itself  useful  in- 
stead of  deadly  to  the  doer,  so  as  to  exert®  his  life  indeed, 
but  not  to  waste  it.  Of  all  wastes,  the  greatest  waste 
that  you  can  commit  is  the  waste  of  labor.  If  you  went 
down  in  the  morning  into  your  dairy,  and  found®  that 
your  youngest  child  had  got  down  before  you,  and  that 
he  and  the  cat  were  at  play  together,  and  that  he  had 
poured  out  all  the  cream  on  the  floor  for  the  cat  to  lap  up, 
you  would  scold  the  child,  and  be  sorry  the  cream®  was 
wasted.  But  if,  instead  of  wooden  bowls  with  milk  in 
them,  there  are  golden  bowls  with  human  life  in  them, 
and  instead  of  the  cat  to  play  with  — the  devil  to 
play  with ; and  you  yourself  the  player ; and  instead  of 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


42 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


leaving  that  golden  bowl  to  be  broken  by  God  at  the 
fountain,®  you  break  it  in  the  dust  yourself,  and  pour  the 
human  life®  out  on  the  ground  for  the  fiend  to  lick  up  — 
that  is  no  waste ! 

5 45.  What!  you  perhaps  think,  ^Go  waste  the  labor 

of  men  is  not  to  kill  them.’^  Is  it  not?  I should  like  to 
know  how  you  could  kill  them  more  utterly  — kill  them 
with  second  deaths,  seventh  deaths,  hundredfold  deaths? 
It  is  the  slightest  way  of  killing  to  stop  a man^s  breath, 
lo  Nay,  the  hunger,  and  the  cold,  and  the  whistling  bullets® 
— our  love-messengers  between  nation  and  nation  — 
have  brought  pleasant  messages  to  many  a man®  before 
now ; orders  of  sweet  release,  and  leave  at  last  to  go  where 
he  will  be  most  welcome  and  most  happy.  At  the  worst 
15  you  do  but  shorten  his  life,®  you  do  not  corrupt  his  life. 
But  if  you  put  him  to  base  labor,  if  you  bind  his  thoughts, 
if  you  blind  his  eyes,  if  you  blunt  his  hopes,  if  you  steal 
his  joys,  if  you  stunt  his  body,  and  blast  his  soul,  and  at 
last  leave  him  not  so  much  as  strength®  to  reap  the  poor 
20  fruit  of  his  degradation,  but  gather  that  for  yourself,  and 
dismiss  him  to  the  grave,  when  you  have  done  with  him, 
having,  so  far  as  in  you  lay,  made  the  walls  of  that  grave 
everlasting ; (though,  indeed,  I fancy  the  goodly  bricks  of 
some  of  our  family  vaults  will  hold  closer®  in  the  resurrec- 
ts tion  day  than  the  sod  over  the  laborer's  head),  this  you 
think  is  no  waste  and  no  sin ! 

46.  iii.  Then,  lastly,  wise  work  is  cheerful,  as  a child’s 
work  is.  And  now  I want  you  to  take  one  thought  home 
with  you,  and  let  it  stay  with  you. 

30  Everybody  in  this  room  has  been  taught  to  pray  daily, 
‘^Thy  kingdom  come.”®  Now,  if  we  hear  a man  swear  in 
the  streets,  we  think  it  very  wrong,  and  say  he  ‘Gakes 
God’s  name  in  vain.”®  But  there’s  a twenty  limes  worse 


WORK 


43 


vvay  of  taking  His  name  in  vain,  than  that.  It  is  to  ask 
God  for  what  we  don’t  want.  He  doesn^t  like  that  sort  of 
prayer.  If  you  don^t  want  a thing,  don't  ask  for  it : 
such  asking  is  the  worst  mockery  of  your  King  you  can 
insult®  Him  with ; the  soldiers  striking  Him  on  the  head  5 
with  the  reed®  was  nothing  to  that.  If  you  do  not  wish 
for  His  kingdom,  don't  pray  for  it.  But  if  you  do,  you 
must  do  more  than  pray  for  it;  you  must  work  for  it. 
And,  to  work  for  it,  you  must  know  what  it  is : we  hav3 
all  prayed  for  it  many  a day  without  thinking.  Observe,  10 
it  is  a kingdom  that  is  to  come  to  us ; we  are  not  to  go  to 
it.  Also,  it  is  not  to  be  a kingdom  of  the  dead,  but  of  the 
living.  Also,  it  is  not  to  come  all  at  once,  but  quietly; 
nobody  knows  how.  ^^The  kingdom  of  God  cometh  not 
with  observation."  Also,  it  is  not  to  come  outside  of  us,  15 
but  in  our  hearts:  ‘Ahe  kingdom  of  God  is  within  you."® 
And,  being  within  us,  it  is  not  a thing  to  be  seen,  but  to  be 
felt ; and  though  it  brings  all  substance  of  good  with  it, 
it  does  not  consist  in  that:  ^Hhe  kingdom  of  God  is  not 
meat  and  drink,  but  righteousness,  [and]  peace,  and  joy  in  20 
the  Holy  Ghost® :"  joy,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  holy,  healthful, 
and  helpful  Spirit.  Now,  if  we  want  to  work  for  this  king- 
dom, and  to  bring  it,  and  enter  into  it,  there's  one  curious 
condition®  to  be  first  accepted.  You  must  enter  it  as 
children,  or  not  at  all;  ‘‘Whosoever  will  not  receive  it  as  25 
a little  child  shall  not  enter  therein."  ® And  again,  “ Suffer 
little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  fo 
of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.”  ® ^ 

47.  Of  such,  observe.  Not  of  children  themselves,  but 

^ T have  referred  oftener  to  the  words  of  the  English  Bible  in 
this  lecture  than  in  any  other  of  my  addresses,  because  I was  here 
speaking  to  an  audience  which  professed  to  accept  its  authority 
implicitly. 


44 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


of  such  as  children.  I believe  most  mothers  who  read 
that  text  think  that  all  heaven  or  the  earth  — when  it 
gets  to  be  like  heaven®  — is  to  be  full  of  babies.  But 
that^s  not  so.®  ‘^Length  of  days,  and  long  life  and  peace, 

5 that  is  the  blessing,  not  to  die,  still  less  to  live,®  in  baby- 
hood. It  is  the  character  of  children  we  want,  and  must 
gain  at  our  peril ; let  us  see,  briefly,  in  what  it  consists. 

The  first  character  of  right  childhood  is  that  it  is  Modest. 
A well-bred  child  does  not  think  it  can  teach  its  parents, 
lo  or  that  it  knows  everything.  It  may  think  its  father  and 
mother  know  everything,  — perhaps  that  all  grown-up 
people  know  everything;  very  certainly  it  is  sure  that  it 
does  not.  And  it  is  always  asking  questions,  and  wanting 
to  know  more.  Well,  that  is  the  first  character  of  a good 
15  and  wise  man  at  his  work.  To  know  that  he  knows  very 
little;  — to  perceive  that  there  are  many  above  him 
wiser  than  he ; and  to  be  always  asking  questions, 
wanting  to  learn,  not  to  teach.  No  one  ever  teaches  well 
who  wants  to  teach,  or  governs  well  who  wants  to  govern ; 
20  it  is  an  old  saying  (Platons,®  but  I know  not  if  his,  first), 
and  as  wise  as  old. 

48.  Then,  the  second  character  of  right  childhood  is  to 
be  Faithful.  Perceiving  that  its  father  knows  best  what 
is  good  for  it,  and  having  found  always,  when  it  has  tried 
25  its  own  way  against  his,  that  he  was  right  and  it  was  wrong, 
a noble  child  trusts  him  at  last  wholly,  gives  him  its  hand, 
and  will  walk  blindfold  with  him,  if  he  bids  it.  And  that 
is  the  true  character  of  all  good  men  also,  as  obedient 
workers,  or  soldiers  under  captains.  They  must  trust 
30  their  captains ; — they  are  bound  for  their  lives  to  choose 
none  but  those  whom  they  can  trust.  Then,  they  are  not 
always  to  be  thinking  that  what  seems  strange  to  them, 
or  wrong  in  what  they  are  desired  to  do,  is  strange  01 


WORK 


45 


wrong.  They  know  their  captain:  where  he  leads  they 
must  follow,  — what  he  bids,  they  must  do ; and  without 
this  trust  and  faith,  without  this  captainship  and  soldier- 
ship, no  great  deed,  no  great  salvation,  is  possible  to  man.® 

49.  Then  the  third  character  of  right  childhood  is  to  be  5 
Loving.®  Give  a little  love  to  a child,  and  you  get  a great 
deal  back.  It  loves  everything  near  it,  when  it  is  a right 
kind  of  child ; would  hurt  nothing,  would  give  the  best  it 
has  away,  always,  if  you  need  it ; does  not  lay  plans  for 
getting  everything  in  the  house  for  itself,  and  delights  in  lo 
helping  people ; you  cannot  please  it  so  much  as  by  giving 

it  a chance  of  being  useful,  in  ever  so  humble®  a way. 

50.  And  because  of  all  these  characters,  lastly,  it  is 

Cheerful.  Putting  its  trust  in  its  father,  it  is  careful  for 
nothing®  — being  full  of  love  to  every  creature,  it  is  happy  15 
always,  whether  in  its  play  or  in  its  duty.  Well,  that^s 
the  great  worker ^s  character  also.  Taking  no  thought  for 
the  morrow® ; taking  thought  only  for  the  duty  of  the  day ; 
trusting  somebody  else  to  take  care  of  to-morrow;  know- 
ing indeed  what  labor  is,  but  not  what  sorrow  is ; and  al-  20 
ways  ready  for  play  — beautiful  play.  For  lovely  human 
play  is  like  the  play  of  the  Sun,  There^s  a worker  for  you. 
He,  steady  to  his  time,  is  set  as  a strong  man  to  run  his 
course,  but  also,  he  rejoiceth  as  a strong  man  to  run  his 
course.®  See  how  he  plays  in  the  morning,  with  the  mists  25 
below,  and  the  clouds  above,  with  a ray  here  and  a flash 
there,  and  a shower  of  jewels  everywhere® ; — that’s  the 
Sun’s  play ; and  great  human  play  is  like  his  — all  vari- 
ous — all  full  of  light  and  life,  and  tender,  as  the  dew  of  the 
morning.  3a 

51.  So  then,  you  have  the  child’s  character  in  these 
four  things  — Humility,  Faith,  Charity,  and  Cheerfulness. 
That’s  what  you  have  got  to  be  converted  to.  Except 


46 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


ye  be  converted  and  become  as  little  children/'®  — You 
hear  much  of  conversion  nowadays;  but  people  always 
seem  to  think  they  have  got  to  be  made  wretched  by 
conversion,  — to  be  converted  to  long  faces.  No,  friends, 
5 you  have  got  to  be  converted  to  short  ones ; you  have  to 
repent  int  : childhood,  to  repent  into  delight,  and  delight- 
someness. You  can't  go  into  a conventicle®  but  you'll 
hear  plenty  of  talk  of  backsliding.®  Backsliding,  indeed  ! 
I can  tell  you,  on  the  ways  most  of  us  go,  the  faster  we 
lo  slide  back  the  better.  Slide  back  into  the  cradle,  if  going 
on  is  into  the  grave : — back,  I tell  you : back  — out  of 
your  long  faces,  and  into  your  long  clothes.  It  is  among 
children  only,  and  as  children  only,  that  you  will  find 
medicine  for  your  healing®  and  true  wisdom  for  your  teach- 
15  ing.®  There  is  poison  in  the  counsels  of  the  men  of  this 
world ; the  words  they  speak  are  all  bitterness,  ^Hhe  poison 
of  asps  is  under  their  lips,"®  but,  ^Hhe  sucking  child  shall 
play  by  the  hole  of  the  asp."®  There  is  death  in  the  looks 
of  men.  Their  eyes  are  privily  set  against  the  poor®;" 
20  they  are  as  the  uncharmable  serpent,  the  cockatrice,  which 
slew  by  seeing.  But  ‘Hhe  weaned  child  shall  lay  his  hand 
on  the  cockatrice  den."®  There  is  death  in  the  steps  of 
men:  ‘Hheir  feet  are  swift  to  shed  blood;  they  have  com- 
passed us  in  our  steps  like  the  lion  that  is  greedy  of  his 
25  prey,  and  the  young  lion  lurking  in  secret  places® ; " but, 
in  that  kingdom,  the  wolf  shall  lie  down  with  the  lamb, 
and  the  fatling  with  the  lion,  and  ^‘a  little  child  shall  lead 
them."®  There  is  death  in  the  thoughts  of  men  : the  world 
is  one  wide  riddle  to  them,  darker  and  darker  as  it  draws  to 
30  a close ; but  the  se(*ret  of  it  is  known  to  the  child,  and  the 
Lord  of  heaven  and  earth®  is  most  to  be  thanked  in  that 
‘^He  has  hidden  tliose  things  from  the  wise  and  prudent, 
and  has  revealed  them  unto  babes."®  Yes,  and  there  is 


WORK 


47 


death  — infinitude  of  death  in  the  principalities  and 
powers®  of  men.  As  far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west,®  so 
far  our  sins  are  — not  set  from  us,  but  multiplied  around 
us:  the  Sun  himself,  think  you  he  now  ‘‘rejoices ^^®  to  run 
his  course,  when  he  plunges  westward  to  the  horizon,  so  5 
widely  red,  not  with  clouds,  but  blood?®  And  it  will  be 
red  more  widely  yet.  Whatever  drought  of  the  early  and 
latter  rain®  may  be,  there  will  be  none  of  that  red  rain.® 
You  fortify  yourselves,  you  arm  yourselves  against  it  in 
vain ; the  enemy  and  avenger  will  be  upon  you  also,  unless  10 
you  learn  that  it  is  not  out  of  the  mouths  of  the  knitted 
gun,  or  the  smoothed  rifle,  but  “out  of  the  mouths  of 
babes  and  sucklings  that  the  strength  is  ordained,  which 
shall  “still  the  enemy  and  avenger.^^® 


LECTURE  II 


TRAFFIC^ 

Delivered  in  the  Town  Hally  Bradford 

52.  My  good  Yorkshire  friends,  you  asked  me  down 
here  among  your  hills  that  I might  talk  to  you  about 
this  Exchange®  you  are  going  to  build : but  earnestly 
and  seriously  asking  you  to  pardon  me,  I am  going  to  do 

5 nothing  of  the  kind.  I cannot  talk,  or  at  least  can  say 
very  little,  about  this  same  Exchange.  I must  talk  of 
quite  other  things,  though  not  willingly;  — I could  not 
deserve  your  pardon,  if  when  you  invited  me  to  speak  on 
one  subject,  I wilfully  spoke  on  another.  But  I cannot 
lo  speak,  to  purpose,  of  anything  about  which  I do  not  care ; 
and  most  simply  and  sorrowfully  I have  to  tell  you,  in  the 
outset,  that  I do  not  care  about  this  Exchange  of  yours. 

If,  however,  when  you  sent  me  your  invitation,  I had 
answered,  “I  won’t  come,  I don’t  care  about  the  Ex- 
15  change  of  Bradford,”  you  would  have  been  justly  offended 
with  me,  not  knowing  the  reasons  of  so  blunt  a carelessness. 
So  I have  come  down,  hoping  that  you  will  patiently  let 
me  tell  you  why,  on  this,  and  many  other  such  occasions,  I 
now  remain  silent,  when  formerly  I should  have  caught  at 
20  the  opportunity  of  speaking  to  a gracious  audience. 

53.  In  a word,  then,  I do  not  care  about  this  Ex- 
change, — because  you  don’t ; and  because  you  know 
perfectly  well  I cannot  make  you.  Look  at  the  essential 

48 


TRAFFIC 


49 


conditions®  of  the  case,  which  you,  as  business  men,  know 
perfectly  well,  though  perhaps  you  think  I forget  them. 
You  are  going  to  spend  £30,000,  which  to  you,  collectively, 
is  nothing ; the  buying  a new  coat  is,  as  to  the  cost  of  it, 
a much  more  important  matter  of  consideration  to  me  than  5 
building  a new  Exchange  is  to  you.  But  you  think  you 
may  as  well  have  the  right  thing  for  your  money.  You 
know  there  are  a great  many  odd  styles  of  architecture 
about;  you  don^t  want  to  do  anything  ridiculous;  you 
hear  of  me,  among  others,  as  a respectable  architectural  10 
man-milliner® ; and  you  send  for  me,  that  I may  tell  you 
the  leading  fashion;  and  what  is,  in  our  shops,  for  the 
moment,  the  newest  and  sweetest  thing  in  pinnacles. 

54.  Now,  pardon  me  for  telling  you  frankly,  you  cannot 
have  good  architecture  merely  by  asking  people’s  advice  15 
on  occasion.  All  good  architecture  is  the  expression  of 
national  life  and  character ; and  it  is  produced  by  a preva- 
lent and  eager  national  taste,  or  desire  for  beauty.®  And 
I want  you  to  think  a little  of  the  deep  significance  of  this 
word  ^Haste”;  for  no  statement  of  mine  has  been  more  20 
earnestly  or  oftener  controverted  than  that  good  taste  is 
essentially  a moral  quality.  ^^No,”  say  many  of  my  an- 
tagonists, ^Haste  is  one  thing,  morality  is  another.  Tell  us 
what  is  pretty:  we  shall  be  glad  to  know  that;  but  we 
need  no  sermons  even  were  you  able  to  preach  them,  25 
which  may  be  doubted.”® 

Permit  me,  therefore,  to  fortify  this  old  dogma  of 
mine  somewhat.  Taste  is  not  only  a part  and  an  index  of 
morality  — it  is  the  only  morality.  The  first,  and  last, 
and  closest  trial  question  to  any  living  creature  is,  What  30 
do  you  like?”  Tell  me  what  you  like,  and  I’ll  tell  you 
what  you  are.®  Go  out  into  the  street,  and  ask  the  first 
man  or  woman  you  meet,  what  their  ''taste”  is,  and  if 

E 


50 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


they  answer  candidly,  you  know  them,  body  and  soul. 
“You,  my  friend  in  the  rags,  with  the  unsteady  gait,  what 
do^oulike?^^  “A  pipe  and  a quartern®  of  gin I know 
you.  “You,  good  woman,  with  the  quick  step  and  tidy 
5 bonnet,  what  do  you  like ? “A  swept  hearth  and  a clean 
tea-table,  and  my  husband  opposite  me,  and  a baby  at  my 
breast.’'  Good,  I know  you  also.  ^'You,  little  girl  with 
the  golden  hair  and  the  soft  eyes,  what  do  you  like?” 
“My  canary,  and  a run  among  the  wood  hyacinths.” 
lo  “ You,  little  boy  with  the  dirty  hands  and  the  low  forehead, 
what  do  you  like  ? ” “ k shy  at  the  sparrows,®  and  a game 

at  pitch  farthing.”®  Good ; we  know  them  all  now.  What 
more  need  we  ask  ? 

55.  “Nay,”  perhaps  you  answer:  “we  need  rather  to 
1 5 ask  what  these  people  and  children  do,  than  what  they  like. 
If  they  do  right,  it  is  no  matter  that  they  like  what  is  wrong ; 
and  if  they  do  wrong,  it  is  no  matter  that  they  like  what  is 
right.  Doing  is  the  great  thing;  and  it  does  not  matter 
that  the  man  likes  drinking,  so  that  he  does  not  drink ; nor 
20  that  the  little  girl  likes  to  be  kind  to  her  canary,  if  she  will 
not  learn  her  lessons ; nor  that  the  little  boy  likes  throwing 
stones  at  the  sparrows,  if  he  goes  to  the  Sunday  School.” 
Indeed,  for  a short  time,  and  in  a provisional  sense,  this 
is  true.  For  if,  resolutely,  people  do  what  is  right,  in  time 
25  they  come  to  like  doing  it.  But  they  only  are  in  a right 
moral  state  when  they  have  come  to  like  doing  it ; and  as 
long  as  they  don’t  like  it,  they  are  still  in  a vicious  state. 
The  man  is  not  in  health  of  body  who  is  always  thinking 
of  the  bottle®  in  the  cupboard,  though  he  bravely  bears  his 
30  thirst ; but  the  man  who  heartily  enjoys  water  in  the 
morning  and  wine  in  the  evening,  each  in  its  proper  quan- 
tity and  time.  And  the  entire  object  of  true  education  is 
to  mnke  peojdc  not  merely  do  the  right  things,  but  enjoy 


TRAFFIC 


51 


the  right  things  — not  merely  industrious,  but  to  love 
industry  — not  merely  learned,  but  to  love  knowledge  — 
not  merely  pure,  but  to  love  purity  — not  merely  just,  but 
to  hunger  and  thirst  after  justice.® 

56.  But  you  may  answer  or  think,  “ Is  the  liking  for  5 
outside  ornaments,  — for  pictures,  or  statues,  or  furniture, 
or  architecture,  — a moral  quality  ? Yes,  most  surely,  if 
a rightly  set  liking.®  Taste  for  any  pictures  or  statues  is 
not  a moral  quality,  but  taste  for  good  ones  is.  Only  here 
again  we  have  to  define  the  word  ^^good.^^  I donT  mean  10 
by  ‘^good,’^  clever  — or  learned  — or  difficult  in  the  doing. 
Take  a picture  by  Teniers,®  of  sots  quarrelling  over  their 
dice : it  is  an  entirely  clever  picture ; so  clever  that  noth- 
ing in  its  kind  has  ever  been  done  equal  to  it ; but  it  is  also 
an  entirely  base  and  evil  picture.  It  is  an  expression  of  15 
delight  in  the  prolonged  contemplation  of  a vile  thing, 
and  delight  in  that  is  an  “unmannered,^^  or  “immorah^ 
quality.  It  is  bad  taste”  in  the  profoundest  sense  — it 

is  the  taste  of  the  devils.  On  the  other  hand,  a picture  of 
Titian^s,®  or  a Greek  statue,  or  a Greek  coin,  or  a Turner®  20 
landscape,  expresses  delight  in  the  perpetual  contempla- 
tion of  a good  and  perfect  thing.  That  is  an  entirely  moral 
quality  — it  is  the  taste  of  the  angels.  And  all  delight 
in  fine  Frt,®  and  all  love  of  it,  resolve  themselves  into 
simple  love  of  that  which  deserves  love.  That  deserving  25 
is  the  quality  which  we  call  ^‘loveliness” — (we  ought 
to  have  an  opposite  word,  hateliness,  to  be  said  of  the 
things  which  deserve  to  be  hated) ; and  it  is  not  an  in- 
different nor  optional  thing  whether  we  love  this  or  that ; 
but  it  is  just  the  vital  function  of  all  our  being.  What  3c 
we  like  determines  what  we  are,  and  is  the  sign  of  what 
we  are ; and  to  teach  taste  is  inevitably  to  form  character. 

57.  As  I was  thinking  over  this,  in  walking  up  Fleet 


52 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


Street  the  other  day,  my  eye  caught  the  title  of  a book 
standing  open  in  a book-seller window.  It  was  — ‘‘On 
the  necessity  of  the  diffusion  of  taste  among  all  classes. 
“Ah,^^  I thought  to  myself,  “my  classifying  friend,  when 
5 you  have  diffused  your  taste,  where  will  your  classes  be  ? 
The  man  who  likes  what  you  like,  belongs  to  the  same  class 
with  you,  I think.  Inevitably  so.  You  may  put  him  to 
other  work  if  you  choose ; but,  by  the  condition  you  have 
brought  him  into,  he  will  dislike  the  other  work  as  much 
lo  as  you  would  yourself.  You  get  hold  of  a scavenger,  or 
a costermonger, ° who  enjoyed  the  Newgate  Calendar‘d 
for  literature,  and  ‘Pop  goes  the  WeaseP®  for  music. 
You  think  you  can  make  him  like  Dante°  and  Beethoven®? 
I wish  you  joy  of  your  lessons®;  but  if  you  do,  you  have 
15  made  a gentleman  of  him  : — he  wonT  like  to  go  back  to  his 
costermongering.^^ 

58.  And  so  completely  and  unexceptionally  is  this  so, 
that,  if  I had  time  to-night,  I could  show  you  that  a nation 
cannot  be  affected  by  any  vice,  or  weakness,  without  ex- 
20  pressing  it,  legibly,  and  forever,  either  in  bad  art,  or  by 
want  of  art;  and  that  there  is  no  national  virtue,  small 
or  great,  which  is  not  manifestly  expressed  in  all  the  art 
which  circumstances  enable  the  people  possessing  that 
virtue  to  produce.  Take,  for  instance,  your  great  English 
25  virtue  of  enduring  and  patient  courage.  You  have  at  pres- 
ent in  England  only  one  art  of  any  consequence — that  is, 
iron-working.  You  know  thoroughly  well  how  to  cast  and 
hammer  iron.®  Now,  do  you  think  in  those  masses  of  lava 
which  you  build  volcanic  cones  to  melt,  and  which  you 
30  forge  at  the  mouths  of  the  Infernos®  you  have  created ; do 
you  think,  on  those  iron  plates,  your  courage  and  endur- 
ance are  not  written  forever  — not  merely  with  an  iron 
pen,  but  on  iron  parchment?  And  take  also  your  great 


TRAFFIC 


63 


English  vice  — European  vice  — vice  of  all  the  world  — 
vice  of  all  other  worlds  that  roll  or  shine  in  heaven,® 
bearing  with  them  yet  the  atmosphere  of  hell  — the  vice 
of  jealousy,  which  brings  competition  into  your  commerce, 
treachery  into  your  councils,  and  dishonor  into  your  wars  5 
— that  vice  which  has  rendered  for  you,  and  for  your  next 
neighboring  nation,®  the  daily  occupations  of  existence  no 
longer  possible,  but  with  the  mail®  upon  your  breasts  and 
the  sword  loose  in  its  sheath;  so  that  at  last,  you  have 
realized  for  all  the  multitudes  of  the  two  great  peoples  10 
who  lead  the  so-called  civilization  of  the  earth,  — you  have 
realized  for  them  all,  I say,  in  person  and  in  policy,  what 
was  once  true  only  of  the  rough  Border  riders  of  your 
Cheviot  hills  — 

They  carved  at  the  meal  15 

With  gloves  of  steel, 

And  they  drank  the  red  wine  through  the  helmet  barr’d;’^®  — 

do  you  think  that  this  national  shame  and  dastardli- 
ness of  heart  are  not  written  as  legibly  on  every  rivet  of 
your  iron  armor®  as  the  strength  of  the  right  hands  that  20 
forged  it  ? 

59.  Friends,  I know  not  whether  this  thing  be  the  more 
ludicrous®  or  the  more  melancholy.®  It  is  quite  unspeak- 
ably both.  Suppose,  instead  of  being  now  sent  for  by 
you,  I had  been  sent  for  by  some  private  gentleman,  living  25 
in  a surburban  house,  with  his  garden  separated  only  by  a 
fruit-wall  from  his  next  door  neighbor’s ; and  he  had  called 
me  to  consult  with  him  on  the  furnishing  of  his  drawing 
room.  I begin  looking  about  me,  and  find  the  walls 
rather  bare ; I think  such  and  such  a paper  might  be  30 
desirable — perhaps  a little  fresco®  here  and  there  on  the 
ceiling — a damask  curtain  or  so  at  the  windows.  ^‘Ah/’ 


THE  CliOWH  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


says  my  employer,  ‘^damask  curtains,®  indeed!  That^s 
all  very  fine,  but  you  know  I can't  afford  that  kind  of 
thing  just  now!"  “Yet  the  world  credits  you  with  a 
splendid  income!"  “Ah,  ye^,"  says  my  friend,  “but  do 
5 you  know,  at  present,  I am  obliged  to  spend  it  nearly 
all  in  steel-traps?"  “Steel-traps!  for  whom?"  “Why, 
for  that  fellow  on  the  other  side  the  wall,  you  know : we're 
very  good  friends,  capital  friends;  but  we  are  obliged 
keep  our  traps  set  on  both  sides  of  the  wall;  we  cculd  not 
lo  possibly  keep  on  friendly  terms  without  then  and  our 
spring  guns.®  The  vmrst  of  it  is,  we  are  both  clever  fol- 
lows enough ; and  there's  never  a day  passes  that  we  don't 
find  out  a new  trap,  or  a new  gun-barrel,  or  something ; 
we  spend  about  fifteen  millions  a year®  each  in  our  traps, 
15  take  it  all  together;  and  I don’t  see  how  we're  to  do  with 
less."  A highly  comic  state  of  life  for  two  private  gentle- 
men ! but  for  two  nations,  it  seems  to  me,  not  wholl\' 
comic  ? Bedlam®  would  be  comic,  perhaps,  if  there  were 
only  one  madman  in  it ; and  your  (Christmas  pantomime® 
20  is  comic,  when  there  is  only  one  clown  in  it ; but  when  the 
whole  world  turns  clown,  and  paints  itself  red  with  its  own 
heart's  blood  insead  of  vermilion,®  it  is  something  else 
than  comic,  I think. 

60.  Mind,  I know  a great  deal  of  this  is  play,  and  wi.. 
25  ingly  allow  for  that.  You  don't  know  what  to  do  with 
yourselves  for  a sensation:  fox-hunting  ar«d  cricketing® 
will  not  carry  you  through  the  whole  of  this  unendurably 
long  mortal  life : you  liked  pop-guns  when  you  were  school- 
boys, and  rifles  and  Armstrongs®  are  only  the  same  tilings 
30  better  made:  but  then  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  wh&t  was 
play  to  you  when  boys,  was  not  play  to  the  sparrows ; and 
what  is  play  to  you  now,  is  not  play  to  the  small  birds  of 
State  neither®;  and  for  the  black  eagles,®  you  are  some- 
what shy  of  faking  shots  if  I mistake  not. 


TRAFFIC 


55 


61.  I must  get  back  to  the  matter  in  hand,  however. 
Believe  me,  without  farther®  instance,  I could  show  you, 
in  all  time,  that  every  nation ^s  vice,  or  virtue,  was  written 
in  its  ar^, : the  soldiership  of  earh^  Greece® ; the  sensuality 
of  late  Italy® ; the  visionary  religion  of  Tuscany® ; the  5 
splendid  human  energy  and  beauty  of  Venice.®  I have 
no  time  to  do  this  to-night  (I  have  done  it  elsewhere  be- 
fore now)  ® ; but  I proceed  to  apply  the  principle  to  our- 
selves in  a more  searching  manner. 

I notice  that  among  all  the  new  buildings  which  cover  10 
your  once  wild  hills,  churches  and  schools  are  mixed 
in  due,  that  is  to  say,  in  large  proportion,  with  your  mills 
and  mansions;  and  I notice  also  that  the  churches  and 
schools  are  almost  always  Gothic,®  and  the  mansions  and 
mills  are  never  Gothic.  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  precisely  15 
the  meaning  of  this?  For,  remember,  it  is  peculiarly  a 
modern  phenomenon.®  When  Gothic  was  invented,  houses 
were  Gothic  as  well  as  churches ; and  when  the  Italian 
style®  superseded  the  Gothic,  churches  were  Italian  as  well 
as  houses.  If  there  is  a Gothic  spire  to  the  cathedral  of  20 
Antwerp,®  there  is  a Gothic  belfry  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  at 
Brussels®;  if  Inigo  Jones  builds  an  Italian  Whitehall,® 
Sir  Christopher  Wren  builds  an  Italian  St.  Pauhs.®  But 
now  you  live  under  one  school  of  architecture,  and  worship 
under  another.  What  do  you  mean  by /doing  this?  Am  25 
I to  understand  that  you  are  thinking  of  changing  your 
architecture  back  to  Gothic ; and  that  you  treat  your 
churches  experimentally,  because  it  does  not  matter  what 
mistakes  you  make  in  a church?  Or  am  I to  understand 
that  you  consider  Gothic  a preeminently  sacred  and  beauti-  30 
ful  mode  of  building,  which  you  think,  like  the  fine  frankin- 
cense,® should  be  mixed  for  the  tabernacle  only,  and  re- 
served for  your  religious  services?  For  if  this  be  the  feel- 


56 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


ing,  though  it  may  seem  at  first  as  if  it  were  graceful  and 
reverent,  at  the  root  of  the  matter,  it  signifies  neither  more 
nor  less  than  that  you  have  separated  your  religion  from 
your  life. 

5 62.  For  consider  what  a wide  significance  this  fact  has ; 

and  remember  that  it  is  not  you  only,  but  all  the  people  of 
England,  who  are  behaving  thus  just  now. 

You  have  all  got  into  the  habit  of  calling  the  church 
^Hhe  house  of  God.^^  I have  seen,  over  the  doors  of  many 
lo  churches,  the  legend  actually  carved,  This  is  the  house  of 
God,  and  this  is  the  gate  of  heaven. Now,  note  where 
that  legend  comes  from,  and  of  what  place  it  was 
first  spoken.  A boy  leaves  his  father’s  house  to  go  on  a 
long  journey  on  foot,  to  visit  his  uncle® ; he  has  to  cross  a 
15  wild  hill-desert ; just  as  if  one  of  your  own  boys  had  to  cross 
the  wolds®  to  visit  an  uncle  at  Carlisle.  ® The  second  or  third 
day  your  boy  finds  himself  somewhere  between  Hawes  and 
Brough,  in  the  midst  of  the  moors,®  at  sunset.  It  is  stony 
ground,  and  boggy®;  he  cannot  go  one  foot  farther  that 
20  night.  Down  he  lies,  to  sleep,  on  Wharnside,  where  best 
he  may,  gathering  a few  of  the  stones  together  to  put  under 
his  head ; — so  wild  the  place  is,  he  cannot  get  anything 
but  stones.  And  there,  lying  under  the  broad  night,  he 
has  a dream;  and  he  sees  a ladder  set  up  on  the  earth, 
25  and  the  top  of  it  Keaches  to  heaven,  and  the  angels  of  God 
are  seen  ascending®  and  descending  upon  it.  And  when 
he  wakes  out  of  his  sleep,  he  says,  “How  dreadful  is  this 
place ; surely,  this  is  none  other  than  the  house  of  God, 
and  this  is  the  gate  of  heaven.”  This  place,  observe; 
30  not  this  church  ; not  this  city ; not  this  stone,  even,  which 
he  puts  up  for  a memorial  — the  piece  of  flint  on  which 
his  head  lias  lain.  But  this  place;  this  windy  slope  of 
Wharnside;  this  moorland  hollow,  torrent-bitten,®  snow- 


TRAFFIC 


57 


blighted ; this  any  place  where  God  lets  down  the  ladder. 
And  how  are  you  to  know  where  that  will  be  ? or  how  are 
you  to  determine  where  it  may  be,  but  by  being  ready  for 
it  always®?  Do  you  know  where  the  lightning  is  to  fall 
next?  You  do  know  that,  partly;  you  can  guide  the 5 
lightning®;  but  you  cannot  guide  the  going  forth  of  the 
Spirit,®  which  is  as  that  lightning  when  it  shines  from  the 
east  to  the  west.® 

63.  But  the  perpetual  and  insolent  warping  of  that 
strong  verse  to  serve  a merely  ecclesiastical  purpose,  10 
is  only  one  of  the  thousand  instances  in  which  we  sink 
back  into  gross  Judaism.®  We  call  our  churches  tem- 
ples. ^^®  Now,  you  know  perfectly  well  they  are  not 
temples.  They  have  never  had,  never  can  have,  anything 
whatever  to  do  with  temples.  They  are  synagogues  ^^®  — 15 

gathering  places  ^ where  you  gather  yourselves  to- 
gether as  an  assembly;  and  by  not  calling  them  so,  you 
again  miss  the  force  of  another  mighty  text  — ^‘Thou, 
when  thou  prayest,  shaft  not  be  as  the  hypocrites  are ; for 
they  lev©  to  pray  standing  in  the  churches  ’^®  [we  should  20 
translate  it],  ^Hhat  they  may  be  seen  of  men.  But  thou, 
when  thou  prayest,  enter  into  thy  closet,  and  when  thou 
hast  shut  thy  door,  pray  to  thy  Father, — which  is,  not 
in  chancel  nor  in  aisle,  but  ^Tn  secret.’^® 

64.  Now,  you  feel^  as  I say  this  to  you  — I know  you  25 
feel  — as  if  I were  trying  to  take  away  the  honor  of  your 
churches.  Not  so ; I am  trying  to  prove  to  you  the  honor 
of  your  houses  and  your  hills® ; not  that  the  Church  is  not 
sacred  — but  that  the  whole  Earth  is.  I would  have 
you  feel,  what  careless,  what  constant,  what  infectious  sin  30 
there  is  in  all  modes  of  thought,  whereby,  in  calling  your 
churches  only  “holy,^^  you  call  your  hearths  and  homes 

profane  and  have  separated  yourselves  from  the 


58 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


fieathen  by  casting  all  your  household  gods  to  the  ground 
instead  of  recognizing,  in  the  place  of  their  many  and 
feeble  Lares,  the  presence  of  your  One  and  Mighty  Lord 
and  Lar.°  * 

5 65.  But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  our  Exchange  ? 

you  ask  me,  impatiently.  My  dear  friends,  it  has  just 
everything  to  do  with  it ; on  these  inner  and  great  ques- 
tions depend  all  the  outer  and  little  ones ; and  if  you  have 
asked  me  down  here  to  speak  to  you,  because  you  had 
lo  before  been  interested  in  anything  I have  written,  you 
must  know  that  all  I have  yet  said  about  ^architecture  was 
to  show  this.  The  book  I called  ^^The  Seven  Lamps 
was  to  show  that  certain  right  states  of  temper  and  moral 
feeling  were  the  magic  powers  by  which  all  good  architect- 
15  ure,  without  exception,  had  been  produced.  ^^The  Stones 
of  Venice  had,  from  beginning  to  end,  no  other  aim 
than  to  show  that  the  Gothic  architecture  of  Venice  had 
arisen  out  of,  and  indicated  in  all  its  features,  a state  of 
pure  national  faith,  and  of  domestic  virtue ; and  that  its 
20  Renaissance  architecture ° had  arisen  out  of,  and  in  all  its 
features  indicated,  a state  of  concealed  national  infidelity, 
and  of  domestic  corruption.  And  now,  you  ask  me  what 
style  is  best  to  build  in;  and  how  can  I answer,  knowing 
the  meaning  of  the  two  styles,  but  by  another  question  — 
25  do  you  mean  to  build  as  Christians  or  as  Infidels  ? And 
still  more  — do  you  mean  to  build  as  honest  Christians  or 
as  honest  Infidels®?  as  thoroughly  and  confessedly  either 
one  or  the  other?  You  donT  like  to  be  asked  such  rude 
questions.  I cannot  help  it ; they  are  of  much  more  ini- 
30  portance  than  this  Exchange  business® ; and  if  they  can 
be  at  once  answered,  the  Exchange  business  settles  itself 
in  a moment.  But,  before  I press  them  farther,®  I must 
ask  leave  to  explain  one  point  clearly. 


TRAFFIC 


59 


66.  In  all  my  pa.st  work,  my  endeavor  has  been  to  show 
that  good  architecture  is  essentially  religious  — the  pro- 
duction of  a faithful  and  virtuous,  not  of  an  infidel  and 
corrupted  people.  But  in  the  course  of  doing  this,  I 
have  had  also  to  show  that  good  architecture  is  not  ec- 
clesiasticaL^  People  are  so  apt  to  look  upon  religion  as  the 
business  of  the  clergy,  not  their  own,  that  the  moment 
they  hear  of  anything  depending  on  religion,  they  think 
it  must  also  have  depended  on  the  priesthood ; and  I have 
had  to  take  what  place  was  to  be  occupied  between  these 
two  errors,  and  fight  both,  often  with  seeming  contradic- 
tion. Good  architecture  is  the  work  of  good  and  be- 
lieving men ; therefore,  you  say,  at  least  some  people  say, 
^^Good  architecture  must  essentially  have  been  the  work 
of  the  clergy,  not  of  the  laity. No  — a thousand  times 
no ; good  architecture  ^ has  always  been  the  work  of  the 
commonalty,  not  of  the  clergy.  What,  you  say,  those 
glorious  cathedrals  — the  pride  of  Europe  — did  their 
builders  not  form  Gothic  architecture?  No;  they  cor- 
rupted Gothic  architecture.  Gothic  was  formed  in  the 
baron’s  castle,®  and  the  burgher’s  street.®  It  was  formed 
by  the  thoughts,  and  hands,  and  powers  of  free  citizens 
and  warrior  kings.®  By  the  monk  it  was  used  as  an  in- 
strument for  the  aid  of  his  superstition ; when  that  super- 
stition became  a beautiful  madness,  and  the  best  hearts  of 
Europe  vainly  dreamed  and  pined  in  the  cloister,®  and 
vainly  raged  and  perished  in  the  crusade®  — through  that 
fury  of  perverted  faith  and  wasted  war,  the  Gothic  rose 
also  to  its  loveliest,  most  fantastic,  and,  finally,  most 
foolish  dreams ; and,  in  those  dreams,  was  lost. 

^ And  all  other  arts,  for  the  most  part;  even  of  incredulous  and 
secularly-minded  commonalties. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


60 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


67.  I hope,  now,  that  there  is  no  risk  of  your  misunder- 
standing me  when  I come  to  the  gist®  of  what  I want  to 
say  to-night ; — when  I repeat,  that  every  great  national 
architecture  has  been  the  result  and  exponent  of  a great 

5 national  religion.  You  can't  have  bits  of  it  here,  bits 
there  — you  must  have  it  everywhere,  or  nowhere.  It  is 
not  the  monopoly  of  a clerical  company  — it  is  not  the 
exponent  of  a theological  dogma  — it  is  not  the  hiero- 
glyphic® writing  of  an  initiated  priesthood ; it  is  the  manly 
lo  language  of  a people  inspired  by  resolute  and  common 
purpose,  and  rendering  resolute  and  common  fidelity  to  the 
legible  laws  of  an  undoubted  God. 

68.  Now,  there  have  as  yet  been  three  distinct  schools 
of  European  architecture.  I say,  European,  because  Asi- 

15  atic  and  African  architectures  belong  so  entirely  to  other 
races  and  climates,  that  there  is  no  question  of  them  here ; 
only,  in  passing,  I will  simply  assure  you  that  what- 
ever is  good  or  great  in  Egypt,®  and  Syria,®  and  India,® 
is  just  good  or  great  for  the  same  reasons  as  the  build- 
20  ings  on  our  side  of  the  Bosphorus.®  We  Europeans,  then, 
have  had  three  great  religions : the  Greek,  which  was  the 
worship  of  the  God  of  Wisdom  and  Power ; the  Mediaeval,® 
which  was  the  Worship  of  the  God  of  Judgment  and  Con- 
solation ; the  Renaissance,®  which  was  the  worship  of  the 
25  God  of  Pride  and  Beauty;  these  three  we  have  had, — ■ 
they  are  past,  — and  now,  at  last,  we  English  have  got  a 
fourth  religion,  and  a God  of  our  own,  about  which  I want 
to  ask  you.  But  I must  explain  these  three  old  ones  first. 

69.  I repeat,  first,  the  Greeks  essentially  worshipped 
30  the  God  of  Wisdom ; so  that  whatever  contended  against 

their  religion,  — to  the  Jews  a stumbling  block,  — was, 
to  the  Greeks  — Foolishness.^ 

The  first  Greek  idea  of  Deity  was  that  expressed  in 


TRAFFIC 


61 


the  word,  of  which  we  keep  the  remnant  in  our  words 
''Dt-urnal'^  and  ''Dt-vine^'  — the  god  of  Day,  Jupiter 
the  revealer.  Athena®  is  his  daughter,  but  especially 
daughter  of  the  Intellect,  springing  armed  from  the 
head.  We  are  only  with  the  help  of  recent  investigation  5 
beginning  to  penetrate  the  depth  of  meaning  couched 
under  the  Athenaic  symbols : but  I may  note  rapidly,  that 
her  aegis,®  the  mantle  with  the  serpent  fringes,  in  which 
she  often,  in  the  best  statues,  is  represented  as  folding  up 
her  left  hand  for  better  guard,  and  the  Gorgon®  on  her  10 
shield,  are  both  representative  mainly  of  the  chilling  horror 
and  sadness  (turning  men  to  stone,  as  it  were,)  of  the  out- 
most and  superficial  spheres  of  knowledge  — that  knowl- 
edge which  separates,  in  bitterness,  hardness,  and  sorrow, 
the  heart  of  the  full-grown  man  from  the  heart  of  the  15 
child.  For  out  of  imperfect  knowledge  spring  terror, 
dissension,  danger,  and  disdain;  but  from  perfect  knowl- 
edge, given  by  the  full-revealed  Athena,  strength  and 
peace,  in  sign  of  which  she  is  crowned  with  the  olive  spray,® 
and  bears  the  resistless  spear.  20 

This,  then,  was  the  Greek  conception  of  purest  Deity, 
and  every  habit  of  life,  and  every  form  of  his  art  developed 
themselves  from  the  seeking  this  bright,  serene,  resistless 
wisdom ; and  setting  himself,  as  a man,  to  do  things  ever- 
more rightly  and  strongly ; ^ not  with  any  ardent  affection  25 


^ It  is  an  error  to  suppose  that  the  Greek  worship,  or  seeking,  was 
chiefly  of  Beauty.  It  was  essentially  of  Rightness  and  Strength, 
founded  on  Forethought:  the  principal  character  of  Greek  art  is 
not  Beauty,  but  design : and  the  Dorian  Apollo-worship  ° and 
Athenian  Virgin-worship  ° are  both  expressions  of  adoration  of 
divine  Wisdom  and  Purity.  Next  to  these  great  deities  rank,  in 
power  over  the  national  mind,  Dionysus  ° and  Ceres,®  the  givers 
ot  human  strength  and  life : then,  for  heroic  example,  Hercules.® 


G2 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


or  ultimate  hope ; but  with  a resolute  and  continent  energ\ 

< /f  will,  as  kno\ving  that  for  failure  there  was  no  consolation, 
and  for  sin  there  was  no  remission.  And  the  Greek  archi- 
tecture rose  unerring,  bright,  clearly  defined,  and  self- 
5 contained. 

70.  Next  followed  in  Europe  the  great  Christian  faith, 
which  was  essentially  the  religion  of  Comfort.  Its  great 
doctrine  is  the  remission  of  sins°;  for  which  cause  it  hap- 
pens, too  often,  in  certain  phases  of  Christianity,  that  sin 

lo  and  sickness  themselves  are  partly  glorified,  as  if,  the  more 
you  had  to  be  healed  of,  the  more  divine  was  the  healing. 
The  practical  result  of  this  doctrine,  in  art,  is  a continual 
contemplation  of  sin  and  disease,  and  of  imaginary  states 
of  purification  from  them;  thus  we  have  an  architecture 
15  conceived  in  a mingled  sentiment  of  melancholy®  and  as- 
piration,® partly  severe,  partly  luxuriant,  which  will  bend 
itself  to  every  one  of  our  needs,  and  everyone  of  our  fancies, 
and  be  strong  or  weak  with  us,  as  we  are  strong  or  weak 
ourselves.  It  is,  of  all  architecture,  the  basest,  when  base 
20  people  build  it  — of  all,  the  noblest,  when  built  by  the 
noble. 

71.  And  now  note  that  both  these  religions  — Greek 
and  Mediaeval  — perished  by  falsenood  in  their  own  main 
purpose.  The  Greek  religion  of  Wisdom  perished  in  a 

25  false  philosophy  — ‘‘Oppositions  of  science,  falsely  so 
called.'’^  The  Mediaeval  religion  of  Consolation  perished 
in  false  comfort ; in  remission  of  sins  given  lyingly.  It 
was  the  selling  of  absolution®  that  ended  he  .Mediaeval 
faith ; and  I can  tell  you  more,  it  is  the  selling  of  abso- 
30  lution  which,  to  the  end  of  time,  will  mark  false  Christi- 

There  is  no  Venus-worship  ° among  the  Greeks  in  the  great  times: 
and  the  Muses  ° are  essentialh’  It  achers  of  Triitli,  and  of  its  har- 
monies. Compare  Aratra  P(  idt  lici,  § 200.® 


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63 


anity.  Pure  Christianity  gives  her  remission  of  sins 
only  by  ending  them;  but  false  Christianity  gets  her 
remission  of  sins  by  compounding^  for  them.  And 
there  are  many  ways  of  compounding  for  them.  We  Eng- 
lish have  beautiful  little  quiet  ways  of  buying  absolution,  5 
whether  in  low  Church  or  high,®  far  more  cunning  than 
any  of  TetzeFs  trading.® 

72.  Then,  thirdly,  there  followed  the  religion  of  Pleas- 
ure, in  which  all  Europe  gave  itself  to  luxury,  ending  in 
death.  First,  bals  masques^,  in  every  saloon,  and  then  10 
guillotines®  in  every  square.  And  all  these  three  wor- 
ships issue  in  vast  temple  building.  Your  Greek  wor- 
shipped Wisdom,  and  built  you  the  Parthenon® — the 
Yirgin^s  temple.  The  Mediaeval  worshipped  Consolation, 
and  built  you  Virgin  temples  also  — but  to  our  Lady  of  Sal- 15 
vation.®  Tho the  Revivalist®  worshipped  beauty,  of  a sort, 
and  built  you  Versailles,®  and  the  Vatican.®  Now,  lastly, 
will  you  tell  me  what  we  worship,  and  what  we  build  ? 

73.  You  know  we  are  speaking  always  of  the  real, 
active,  continual,  national  worship ; that  by  which  men  20 
act  while  they  live ; not  that  which  they  talk  of  when  they 
die.  Now,  we  have,  indeed,  a nominal  religion,  to  which 
we  pay  tithes  of  property®  and  sevenths  of  time® ; but  we 
have  also  a practical  and  earnest  religion,  to  which  we 
devote  nine-tenths  of  our  property  and  sixth-sevenths  of  25 
our  time.  And  we  dispute  a great  deal  about  the  nominal 
religion;  but  we  are  all  unanimous  about  this  practical 
one,  of  which  I think  you  will  admit  that  the  ruling  goddess 
may  be  best  generally  described  as  the  “Goddess  of  Get- 
ting-on,'' or  “Britannia  of  the  Market."  The  Athenians  30 
had  an  “ilthena  Agoraia,"®  or  Athena®  of  the  Market  ; 
but  she  was  a subordinate  type  of  their  goddess,  while  our 
Britannia  Agoraia  is  the  principal  type  of  ours.  And  all 


64 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


your  great  architectural  works,  are,  of  course,  built  to 
her.®  It  is  long  since  you  built  a great  cathedral;  and 
how  you  would  laugh  at  me,  if  I proposed  building  a cathe- 
dral on  the  top  of  one  of  these  hills  of  yours,  to  make  it 
5 an  Acropolis®  ! But  your  railroad  mounds,  vaster  than 
the  walls  of  Babylon® ; your  railroad  stations,  vaster  than 
the  temple  of  Ephesus,®  and  innumerable ; your  chimneys 
how  much  more  mighty  and  costly  than  cathedral  spires  ! 
your  harbor  piers® ; your  warehouses ; your  exchanges  ! — ■ 
lo  all  these  are  built  to  your  great  Goddess  of  Getting-on  ” ; 
and  she  has  formed,  and  will  continue  to  form,  your  archi- 
tecture, as  long  as  you  worship  her;  and  it  is  quite  vain 
to  ask  me  to  tell  you  how  to  build  to  her;  you  know  far 
better  than  I. 

IS  74.  There  might  indeed,  on  some  theories,  be  a con- 
ceivably good  architecture  for  Exchanges  — that  is  to 
say,  if  there  were  any  heroism  in  the  fact  or  deed  of  ex- 
change, which  might  be  typically  carved  on  the  outside 
of  your  building.  For,  you  know,  all  beautiful  architect- 
20  ure  must  be  adorned  with  sculpture  or  painting ; and  for 
sculpture  or  painting,  you  must  have  a subject.  And 
hitherto  it  has  been  a received  opinion  among  the  nations 
of  the  world  that  the  only  right  subjects  for  either,  were 
heroisms  of  some  sort.  Even  on  his  pots  and  his  flagons, 
25  the  Greek  put  a Hercules  slaying  lions,  or  an  Apollo® 
slaying  serpents,  or  Bacchus®  slaying  melancholy  giants, 
and  earth-born  despondencies.  On  his  temples,  the  Greek 
put  contests  of  great  warriors  in  founding  states,  or  of  gods 
with  evil  spirits.  On  his  houses  and  temples  alike,  the 
30  Christian  put  carvings  of  angels  conquering  devils;  or 
of  hero-martyrs  exchanging  this  world  for  another;  sub- 
ject inappropriate,  1 think,  to  our  direction®  of  exchange 
here.  And  the  Master  of  Christians  not  only  left  his  fol- 


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65 


lowers  without  any  orders  as  to  the  sculpture  of  affairs  of 
exchange  on  the  outside  of  buildings,  but  gave  some  strong 
evidence  of  his  dislike  of  affairs  of  exchange  within  them.® 
And  yet  there  might  surely  be  a heroism  in  such  affairs; 
and  all  commerce  become  a kind  of  selling  of  doves,  not  im-  5 
pious.  The  wonder  has  always  been  great  to  me,  that 
heroism  has  never  been  supposed  to  be  in  any  wise  con- 
sistent with  the  practice  of  supplying  people  with  food,  or 
clothes;  but  rather  with  that  of  quartering®  one's  self 
upon  them  for  food,  and  stripping  them  of  their  clothes,  to 
Spoiling  of  armor  is  an  heroic  deed  in  all  ages;  but  the 
selling  of  clothes,  old  or  new,  has  never  taken  any  color 
of  magnanimity.®  Yet  one  does  not  see  why  feeding  the 
hungry  and  clothing  the  naked®  should  ever  become  base 
businesses,  even  when  engaged  in  on  a large  scale.  If  one  15 
could  contrive  to  attach  the  notion  of  conquest  to  them 
anyhow® ! so  that,  supposing  there  were  anywhere  an 
obstinate  race,  who  refused  to  be  comforted,  one  might 
take  some  pride  in  giving  them  compulsory  comfort® ! ^ 
and  as  it  were,  occupying^  a country"  with  one's  gifts,  20 
instead  of  one's  armies?  If  one  could  only  consider  it  as 
much  a victory  to  get  a barren  field  sown,  as  to  get  an 
eared  field  stripped;  and  contend  who  should  build  vil- 
lages, instead  of  who  should  carry  " them®  ! Are  not  all 
forms  of  heroism,  conceivable  in  doing  these  serviceable  25 
deeds  ? You  doubt  who  is  strongest  ? It  might  be  ascer- 
tained by  push  of  spade,  as  well  as  push  of  sword.  Who  is 
wisest  ? There  are  witty®  things  to  be  thought  of  in  plan- 
ning other  business  than  campaigns.  Who  is  bravest? 
There  are  always  the  elements®  to  fight  with,  stronger  than  30 
men ; and  nearly  as  merciless. 

^ Quite  serious,  all  this,  though  it  reads  like  jest. 

F 


66 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


75.  The  only  absolutely  and  unapproachably  heroic 
element  in  the  soldier's  work  seems  to  be  — that  he  is 
paid  little  for  it  — and  regularly® : while  you  traffickers, 
and  exchangers,  and  others  occupied  in  presumably  be- 

5 nevolent  business,  like  to  be  paid  much  for  it  — and  by 
chance.  I never  can  make  out  how  it  is  that  a knight- 
errant®  does  not  expect  to  be  paid  for  his  trouble,  but  a 
ped/er®-errant  always  does ; — that  people  are  willing  to 
take  hard  knocks  for  nothing,  but  never  to  sell  ribands® 
lo  cheap; — that  they  are  ready  .to  go  on  fervent  crusades® 
to  recover  the  tomb  of  a buried  God,  but  never  on  any 
travels  to  fulfil  the  orders  of  a living  one ; — that  they  will 
go  anywhere  barefoot  to  preach  their  faith,  but  must 
be  well  bribed  to  practise  it,  and  are  perfectly  ready 
15  to  give  the  Gospel  gratis,  but  never  the  loaves  and 
fishes.^ 

76.  If  you  chose  to  take  the  matter  up  on  any  such 
soldierly  principle,  to  do  your  commerce,  and  your  feed- 
ing of  nations,  for  fixed  salaries;  and  to  be  as  particular 

20  about  giving  people  the  best  food,  and  the  best  cloth,  as 
soldiers  are  about  giving  them  the  best  gunpowder,®  I 
could  carve  something  for  you  on  your  exchange  worth 
looking  at.  But  I can  only  at  present  suggest  decorating 
its  frieze®  with  pendent  purses;  and  making  its  pillars 
25  broad  at  the  base,  for  the  sticking  of  bills.®  Ar  i in  the 
innermost  chambers  of  it  there  might  be  a statue  of 
Britannia  of  the  Market,  who  may  have,  perhaps  advis- 
ably, a partridge  for  her  crest,  typical  at  once  of  her 
courage  in  fighting  for  noble  ideas,  and  of  her  interest  in 
30  game ; and  round  its  neck  the  inscription  in  golden  letters, 

^ Please  think  over  this  paragraph,  too  briefly  and  antithetically 
put,  but  one  of  those  which  I am  happiest  in  liaviiig  written. 


THAFFW 


G7 


■^Perdix  fovit  qUcT  non  peperitd^^  Then,  for  Iier  spear, 
she  might  have  a weaver^s  beam  ; and  on  her  shield,  in- 
stead of  St.  George \s  Cross,®  tlie  Milanese  boar,  semi- 
fleeeed,  with  the  town  of  Gennesaret  proj)er,®  in  the  field,® 
and  the  legend  ^Mn  the  best  market, ^^^®  and  her  corselet,  5 
of  leather,  folded  over  her  heart  in  the  shape  pf  a purse, 
with  thirty  slits®  in  it  for  a piece  of  money  to  go  in  at,  on 
each  day  of  th-  month.  And  I doubt  not  but  that  people 
would  come  to  see  your  exchange,  and  its  goddess,  with 
applause.  ic 

77.  Nevertheless,  I want  to  point  out  to  you  certain 
strange  characters  in  this  goddess  of  }murs.  She  differs 
from  the  great  Greek  and  Mediaeval  deities  essentially  in 
two  things  — first,  as  to  the  continuance  of  her  presumed 
power;  secondly,  as  to  the  extent  of  it.  15 

1st,  as  to  the  Continuance. 

The  Greek  Goddess  of  Wisdom®  gave  continual  increase 
of  wisdom,  as  the  Christian  Spirit  of  Comfort  (or  Com- 
forter) continual  increase  of  comfort.  There  was  no  ques- 
tion, with  these,  of  any  limit  or  cessation  of  function.  But  20 
with  your  Agora  Goddess,®  that  is  just  the  most  important 
question.  Getting  on  — but  where  to  ? Gathering  to- 
gether — b It  how  much  ? Do  you  mean  to  gather  always 
— never  to  spend?  If  so,  I wish  you  joy  of  your  goddess, 
for  I am  just  as  well  off  as  you,  without  the  trouble  of  25 
worshipping  her  at  all.  But  if  you  do  not  spend,  some- 
body else  will  — somebody  else  must.  And  it  is  because 
of  this  (among  many  other  such  errors)  that  I have  fear- 

' Jerem.  xvii.  11  (best  in  Septuagint  and  Vulgate).  the 

partridge,  fostering  what  she  brought  not  forth,  so  he  that  getteth 
riches,  not  by  right  shall  leave  them  in  the  midst  of  his  days,  and 
at  his  end  shall  be  a fool.”  ° 

^ Meaning  fully,  ‘AVe  have  brought  our  pigs  to  it.” 


68 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


^ssly  declared  your  so-called  science  of  Political  Economy 
to  be  no  science ; because,  namely,  it  has  omitted  the  study 
of  exactly  the  most  important  branch  of  the  business  — 
the  study  of  spending.  For  spend  you  must,  and  as  much 
5 as  you  make,  ultimately.  You  gather  corn : — will  you 
bury  England  under  a heap  of  grain ; or  will  you,  when 
you  have  gathered,  finally  eat  ? You  gather  gold® : — will 
you  make  your  house-roofs®  of  it,  or  pave  your  streets 
with  it?  That  is  still  one  way  of  spending  it.  But  if 
loyou  keep  it,  that  you  may  get  more.  I’ll  give  you  more; 
Idl  give  you  all  the  gold  you  want  — all  you  can  imagine  — 
if  you  can  tell  me  what  youdl  do  with  it.  You  shall  have 
thousands  of  gold  pieces ; — thousands  of  thousands  — 
millions  — mountains,  of  gold : where  will  you  keep  them  ? 
15  Will  you  put  an  Olympus®  of  silver  upon  a golden  Pelion® 
— make  Ossa®  like  a wart?  Do  you  think  the  rain  and 
dew  would  then  come  down  to  you,  in  the  streams  from 
such  mountains,  more  blessedly  than  they  will  down  the 
mountains  which  God  has  made  for  you,  of  moss  and  whin- 
20  stone®  ? But  it  is  not  gold  that  you  want  to  gather ! 
What  is  it?  greenbacks?  No;  not  those  neither.® 
What  is  it  then  — is  it  ciphers  after  a capital  I ? Cannot 
you  practise  writing  ciphers,  and  write  as  many  as  you 
want?  Write  ciphers  for  an  hour  every  morning,  in  a big 
2 5 book,  and  say  every  evening,  I am  worth  all  those  noughts 
more  than  I was  yesterday.  WonTthatdo?  Well,  what 
in  the  name  of  Plutus  is  it  you  want®?  Not  gold,  not 
greenbacks,  not  ciphers  after  a capital  I?  You  will  have 
to  answer,  after  all,  ‘^No;  we  want,  somehow  or  other, 
30  money ^s Well,  what  is  that?  Let  your  Goddess 
of  Getting-on  discover  it,  and  let  her  learn  to  stay  therein. 

78.  II.  But  there  is  yet  another  question  to  be  asked 
respecting  this  Goddess  of  Getting-on.  The  first  was  of 


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69 


the  continuance  of  her  power;  the  second  is  of  its  ex- 
tent. 

Pallas ° and  the  Madonna®  were  supposed  to  be  all  the 
world ^s  Pallas,  and  all  the  world ^s  Madonna.  They  could 
teach  all  men,  and  they  could  comfort  all  men.  But, 
look  strictly  into  the  nature  of  the  power  of  your  Goddess 
of  Getting-on ; and  you  will  find  she  is  the  Goddess  — 
not  of  everybody's  getting  on  — but  only  of  somebody ^s 
getting  on.  This  is  a vital,  or  rather  deathful,®  distinction. 
Examine  it  in  your  own  ideal  of  the  state  of  national  life 
which  this  Goddess  is  to  evoke  and  maintain.  I asked  you 
what  it  was,  when  I was  last  here® ; ^ — you  have  never 
told  me.  Now,  shall  I try  to  tell  you? 

79.  Your  ideal  of  human  life  then  is,  I think,  that  it 
should  be  passed  in  a pleasant  undulating  world,®  with 
iron  and  coal  everywhere  underneath  it.  On  each  pleasant 
bank  of  this  world  is  to  be  a beautiful  mansion,  with  two 
wings ; and  stables,  and  coach-houses ; a moderately 
sized  park ; a large  garden  and  hot-houses ; and  pleasant 
carriage  drives  through  the  shrubberies.  In  this  mansion 
are  to  live  the  favored  votaries®  of  the  Goddess;  the 
English  gentleman,  with  his  gracious  wife,  and  his  beauti- 
ful family;  always  able  to  have  the  boudoir®  and  the 
jewels  for  the  wife,"  and  the  beautiful  ball  dresses  for 
the  daughters,  and  hunters  for  the  sons,  and  a shooting  in 
the  Highlands  for  himself.  At  the  bottom  of  the  bank,  is  to 
be  the  mill ; not  less  than  a quarter  of  a mile  long,  with  a 
steam  engine  at  each  end,  and  two  in  the  middle,  and  a 
chimney  three  hundred  feet  high.®  In  this  mill  are  to  be 
in  constant  employment  from  eight  hundred  to  a thousand 
workers,  who  never  drink,  never  strike,  always  go  to 

^ ‘‘The  Two  Paths,”  p.  115  (small  edition),  and  p.  99  of  vol.  x. 
of  the  “Revised  Series  of  the  Entire  Works.” 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


70 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


church  on  Sunday,  and  always  express  themselves  in 
respectful  language. 

80.  Is  not  that,  broadly,  and  in  the  main  features, 
the  kind  of  thing  you  propose  to  yourselves?  It  is  very 
5 pretty  indeed,  seen  from  above ° ; not  at  all  so  pretty,  seen 
from  below. For,  observe,  while  to  one  family  this  deity 
is  indeed  the  Goddess  of  Getting-on,  to  a thousand  fami- 
lies she  is  the  Goddess  of  not  Getting-on.  Nay,^^  you  say, 
“they  have  all  their  chance.’^  Yes,  so  has  every  one  in  a 
lo  lottery,  but  there  must  always  be  the  same  number  of 
blanks.®  “Ah  ! but  in  a lottery  it  is  not  skill  and  intelli- 
gence which  take  the  lead,  but  blind  chance.'^  What  then  ! 
do  you  think  the  old  practice,  that  “they  should  take  who 
have  the  power,  and  they  should  keep  who  can,^^°  is  less 
15  iniquitous,  when  the  power  has  become  power  of  brains 
instead  of  fist  ? and  that,  though  we  may  not  take  advan- 
tage of  a child ^s  or  awoman^s  weakness,  we  may  of  a man's 
foolishness?  ^^Nay,  but  finally,  work  must  be  done,  and 
some  one  must  be  at  the  top,  some  one  at  the  bottom." 
20  Granted,  my  friends.  Work  must  always  be,  and  cap- 
tains of  work  must  always  be ; and  if  you  in  the  least  re- 
member the  tone  of  any  of  my  writings,  you  must  know 
that  they  are  thought  unfit  for  this  age,  because  they  are 
always  insisting  on  need  of  government,  and  speaking  with 
25  scorn  of  liberty.®  But  I beg  you  to  observe  that  there 
is  a wide  difference  between  being  captains  or  governors 
of  work,  and  taking  the  profits  of  it.  It  does  not  follow, 
because  you  are  general  of  an  army,  that  you  are  to  take 
all  the  treasure,  or  land,  it  wins  (if  it  fight  for  treasure  or 
30  land) ; neither,  because  you  are  king  of  a nation,  that  you 
are  to  consume  all  the  profits  of  the  nation's  work.  Real 
kings,  on  the  contrary,  are  known  invariably  by  their 
doing  (juite  the  reverse  of  this,  — by  their  taking  the  least 


TRAFFIC 


71 


possible  quantity  of  tlie  natioii^s  work  for  theinsehes 
There  is  no  test  of  real  kinghood  so  infallible  as  that. 
Does  the  crowned  creature  live  simply,  bravely,  unostenta- 
tiously ? probably  he  is  a King.  Does  he  cover  his  body 
with  jewels,  and  his  table  with  delicates°?  in  all  probabil-’s 
ity  he  is  not  a King.  It  is  possible  he  may  be,  as  Solomon® 
was ; but  that  is  when  the  nation  shares  his  s})lendor  with 
him.  Solomon  made  gold,  not  only  to  be  in  his  own  palace 
as  stones,  but  to  be  in  Jerusalem  as  stones.  But  even  so, 
for  the  most  part,  these  splendid  kinghoods  expire  in  ruin,  ic 
and  only  the  true  kinghoods  live,  which  are  of  royal  labor- 
ers governing  loyal  laborers ; who,  both  leading  rough  lives, 
establish  the  true  dynasties.  Conclusively  you  will  find 
that  because  you  are  king  of  a nation,  it  does  not  follow 
that  you  are  to  gather  for  yourself  all  the  wealth  of  that  15 
nation ; neither,  because  you  are  king  of  a small  part  of 
the  nation,  and  lord  over  the  means  of  its  maintenance  — 
over  field,  or  mill,  or  mine  — are  you  to  take  all  the  prod- 
uce of  that  piece  of  the  foundation  of  national  existence 
for  yourself.  20 

81.  You  will  tell  me  I need  not  preach  against  these 
things,  for  I cannot  mend  them.  No,  good  friends,  I can- 
not ; but  you  can,  and  you.  will ; or  something  else  can  and 
will.  Even  good  things  have  no  abiding  power  — and 
shall  these  evil  things  persist  in  victorious  evil®?  All 25 
history  shows,  on  the  contrary,  that  to  be  the  exact  thing 
they  never  can  do.  Change  rnust  come;  but  it  is  ours  to 
determine  whether  change  of  growth,  or  change  of  death. 
Shall  the  Parthenon®  be  in  ruins  6n  its  rock,  and  Bolton 
priory®  in  its  meadow,  but  these  mills  of  yours  be  the  con-  30 
summation  of  the  buildings  of  the  earth,  and  their  wlieels 
be  as  the  wheels  of  eternity?  Think  you  that  “men  may 
come,  and  men  may  go,^’  but  — mills  — go  on  forever®? 


72 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


Not  so  ; out  of  these,  better  or  worse  shall  come ; and  it  is 
for  you  to  choose  which. 

82.  I know  that  none  of  this  wrong  is  done  with  deliber- 
ate purpose.  I know,  on  the  contrary,  that  you  wish  your 

5 workmen  well ; that  you  do  much  for  them,  and  that  you 
desire  to  do  more  for  them,  if  you  saw  your  way  to  such 
benevolence®  safely.  I know  that  even  all  this  wrong® 
and  misery  are  brought  about  by  a warped  sense  of  duty, 
each  of  you  striving  to  do  his  best ; but  unhappily,  not 
lo  knowing  for  whom  this  best  should  be  done.  And  all  our 
hearts  have  been  betrayed  by  the  plausible  impiety  of  the 
modern  economist,®  that  ^^To  do  the  best  for  yourself,  is 
finally  to  do  the  best  for  others.'’^®  Friends,  our  great 
Master  said  not  so®;  and  most  absolutely  we  shall  find 
15  this  world  is  not  made  so.  Indeed,  to  do  the  best  for 
others,  is  finally  to  do  the  best  for  ourselves;  but  it  will 
not  do  to  have  our  eyes  fixed  on  that  issue.  The  Pagans® 
had  got  beyond  that.  Hear  what  a Pagan  says  of  this 
matter ; hear  what  were,  perhaps,  the  last  written  words 
20  of  Plato,®  — if  not  the  last  actually  written  (for  this  we 
cannot  know) , yet  assuredly  in  fact  and  power  his  parting 
words  — in  which,  endeavoring  to  give  full  crowning  and 
harmonious  close  to  all  his  thoughts,  and  to  speak  the  sum 
of  them  by  the  imagined  sentence  of  the  Great  Spirit,  his 
25  strength  and  his  heart  fail  him,  and  the  words  cease,  broken 
off  forever. 

83.  They  are  at  the  close  of  the  dialogue  called 
^Xritias,^^®  in  which  he  describes,  partly  from  real  tradi- 
tion, partly  in  ideal  dream,  the  early  state  of  Athens®;  and 

30  the  genesis,®  and  order,  and  religion,  of  the  fabled  isle  of 
Atlantis®;  in  which  genesis  he  conceives  the  same  first 
perfection  and  final  degeneracy  of  man,  which  in  our  own 
Scriptural  tradition  is  expressed  by  saying  that  the  Sons  of 


TRAFFIC 


God  mtermarried  with  the  daughters  of  men,®  for  he  sup- 
poses the  earliest  race  to  have  been  indeed  the  children  of 
God;  and  to  have  corrupted  themselves,  until  ^Hheir  spot 
was  not  the  spot  of  his  children/^  And  this,  he  says,  was  , 
the  end ; that  indeed  “through  many  generations,  so  long  5 
as  the  God’s  nature  in  them  yet  was  full,  they  were  sub- 
missive to  the  sacred  laws,  and  carried  themselves  lov- 
ingly to  all  that  had  kindred  with  them  in  divineness ; for 
their  uttermost  spirit  was  faithful  and  true,  and  in  every 
wise  great ; so  that,  in  all  meekness  of  wisdom,  they  dealt  10 
with  each  other, ^ and  took  all  the  chances  of  life;  and  de- 
spising all  things  except  virtue,  they  cared  little  what 
happened  day  by  day,  and  hore  lightly  the  burden  of  gold 
and  of  possessions ; for  they  saw  that,  if  only  their  common 
love  and  virtue  increased,  all  these  things  would  he  increased  1 5 
together  with  them"^;  but  to  set  their  esteem  and  ardent  pur- 
suit upon  material  possession  would  be  to  lose  that  first, 
and  their  virt  le  and  affection  together  with  it.  And  by 
such  reasoning,  and  what  of  the  divine  nature  remained 
in  them,  they  gained  all  this  greatness  of  which  we  have  20 
already  told ; but  when  the  God’s  part  of  them  faded  and 
oecame  extinct,  being  mixed  again  and  again,  and  ellaced 
by  the  prevalent  mortality® ; and  the  human  nature  at  last 
exceeded,  they  then  became  unable  to  endure  the  courses 
of  fortune ; and  fell  into  shapelessness  of  life,  and  baseness  25 
in  the  sight  of  him  who  could  see,  having  lost  everything 
that  was  fairest  of  their  honor ; while  to  the  blind  hearts® 
which  could  not  discern  the  true  life,  tending  to  happiness, 
it  seemed  that  they  were  then  chiefly  noble  and  happy, 
being  filled  with  all  iniquity  of  inordinate  possession  and  30 
power.  Whereupon,  the  God  of  gods,  whose  Kinghood 
is  in  laws,  beholding  a once  just  nation  thus  cast  into 
misery,  and  desiring  to  lay  such  punishment  upon  them  as 


74 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


might  make  them  repent  into  restraining,  gatliered  to- 
gether all  the  gods  into  his  dwelling-place,  which  from 
heaven^s  centre  overlooks  whatever  has  part  in  creation; 
, and  having  assembled  them,  he  said'^  — 

5 84.  The  rest  is  silence.  Last  words®  of  the  chief  wisdom 

of  the  heathen,  spoken  of  this  idol  of  riches ; this  idol  of 
yours;  this  golden  image  high  by  measureless  cubits.® 
set  up  where  your  green  fields  of  England  are  furnace- 
burnt  into  the  likeness  of  the  plain  of  Dura® : this  idol,  for- 
lo  bidden  to  us,  first  of  all  idols,  by  our  own  Master  and  faith® ; 
forbidden  to  us  also  by  every  human  lip  that  has  ever,  in 
any  age  or  people,  been  accounted  of  as  able  to  speak  ac- 
cording to  the  purposes  of  God.  Continue  to  make  that 
forbidden  deity  your  principal  one,  and  soon  no  more 
IS  art,  no  more  science,  no  more  pleasure  will  be  possible. 
Catastrophe  will  come ; or  worse  than  catastrophe,  slow 
mouldering  and  withering  into  Hades.®  But  if  you  can 
fix  some  conception  of  a true  human  state  of  life  to  be 
striven  for  — life  good  for  all  men®  as  for  yourselves  — if 
20  you  can  determine  some  honest  and  simple  order  of  ex- 
istence; following  those  trodden  ways  of  wisdom,  which 
are  pleasantness,  and  seeking  her  quiet  and  withdrawn 
paths,  which  are  peace  ^ ; — then,  and  so  sanctifying 
wealth  into  commonwealth,^^®  all  your  art,  your  litera- 
25  ture,  your  daily  labors,  your  domestic  affection,  and  citi- 
zen's duty,  will  join  and  increase  into  one  magnificent 
harmony.  You  will  know  then  how  to  build,  well  enough ; 
you  will  build  with  stone  well,  but  with  flesh  better  ; tem- 
ples not  made  with  hands,  but  riveted  of  hearts  ; and  that 
30  kind  of  marble,  crimson-veined,  is  indeed  eternal.® 

^ I imagine  the  Hebrew  chant  merely  intends  passionate  repe- 
tition, and  not  a distinction  of  this  somewhat  fanciful  kind;  yet 
we  may  profitably  make  it  in  reading  the  laiglisli. 


LECTURE  III 


WAR 

Delivered  at  the  Royal  Military  Academy ^ Woolwich ^ 1865 

85.  Young  soldiers,  I do  not  doubt  but  that  many  of 
you  came  unwillingly  to-night,  and  many  in  merely  con- 
temptuous curiosity,  to  hear  what  a writer  on  painting 
could  possibly  say,  or  would  venture  to  say,  respecting 
your  great  art  of  war.  You  may  well  think  within  your- 
selves, that  a painter  might,  perhaps  without  immodesty, 
lecture  younger  painters  upon  painting,  but  not  young 
lawyers  upon  law,  nor  young  physicians  upon  medicine  — 
least  of  all,  it  may  seem  to  you,  young  warriors  upon  war. 
And,  indeed,  when  I was  asked  to  address  you,  I declined 
at  first,  and  declined  long;  for  I felt  that  you  would 
not  be  interested  in  my  special  business,  and  would  cer- 
tainly think  there  was  small  need  for  me  to  come  to  teach 
you  yours.  Nay,  I knew  that  there  ought  to  be  no  such 
need,  for  the  great  veteran  soldiers  of  England  are  now 
men  every  way  so  thoughtful,  so  noble,  and  so  good,  that 
no  other  teaching  than  their  knightly  example,  ° and  their 
few  words®  of  grave  and  tried  counsel  should  be  either 
necessary  for  you,  or  even,  without  assurance  of  due 
modesty  m the  offerer,  endured  by  you. 

86.  But  being  asked,  not  once  nor  twice,  I have  not 
ventured  persistently  to  refuse;  and  I will  try,  in  very 
few  words,  to  lay  before  you  some  reason  why  you  should 


5 

10 

15 

20 


76 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


accept  my  excuse,  and  hear  me  patiently.  You  may  im- 
agine that  your  work  is  wholly  foreign  to,  and  separate 
from  mine.  So  far  from  that,  all  the  pure  and  noble  arts 
of  peace  are  founded  on  war;  no  great  art  ever  yet  rose 
5 on  earth,  but  among  a nation  of  soldiers.  There  is  no 
art  among  a shepherd  people,  if  it  remains  at  peace. 
There  is  no  art  among  an  agricultural  people,  if  it  remains 
at  peace.  Commerce  is  barely  consistent  with  fine  art; 
but  cannot  produce  it.  Manufacture  not  only  is  unable  to 
lo  produce  it,  but  invariably  destroys  whatever  seeds  of  it 
exist.  There  is  no  great  art  possible  to  a nation  but  that 
which  is  based  on  battle. 

87.  Now,  though  I hope  you  love  fighting  for  its  own 
sake,  you  must,  I imagine,  be  surprised  at  my  assertion 
15  that  there  is  any  such  good  fruit  of  fighting.  You  sup- 
posed, probably,  that  your  office  was  to  defend  the  works 
of  peace,  but  certainly  not  to  found  them : nay,  the 
common  course  of  war,  you  may  have  thought,  was  only 
to  destroy  them.  And  truly,  I w^ho  tell  you  this  of  the  use 
20  of  war,  should  have  been  the  last  of  men  to  tell  you  so  had 
I trusted  my  own  experience  only.  Hear  why:  I have 
given  a considerable  part  of  my  life  to  the  investigation  of 
Venetian  painting,  and  the  result  of  that  inquiry  was  my 
fixing  upon  one  man  as  the  greatest  of  all  Venetians, 
25  and  therefore,  as  I believed,  of  all  painters  whatsoever. 
I formed  this  faith  (whether  right  or  wrong  matters  at 
present  nothing),  in  the  supremacy  of  the  painter  Tin- 
toret,®  under  a roof  covered  with  his  pictures ; and  of  those 
pictures,  three  of  the  noblest  were  then  in  the  form  of 
30  shreds  of  ragged  canvas,  mixed  up  with  the  laths  of  the 
roof,  rent  through  by  three  Austrian  shells.  Now  it  is  not 
every  lecturer  who  could  tell  you  that  he  had  seen  three  of 
his  favorite  pictures  torn  to  rags  by  bomb-shells.  And 


WAR 


77 


after  such  a sight,  it  is  not  every  lecturer  who  would  tell 
you  that,  nevertheless,  war  was  the  foundation  of  all  great 
art. 

88.  Yet  the  conclusion  is.  inevitable,  from  any  careful 

comparison  of  the  states  of  great  historic  race.3  at  different  5 
periods.  Merely  to  show  you  what  I mean,  I will  sketch 
for  you,  very  briefly,  the  broad  steps  of  the  advance  of  the 
best  art  of  the  world.  The  first  dawn  of  it  is  in  Egypt ; and 
the  power  of  it  is  founded  on  the  perpetual  contemplation 
of  death,  and  of  future  judgment,  by  the  mind  of  a nation  ic 
of  which  the  ruling  caste  were  priests,  and  the  second,  sol- 
diers. The  greatest  works  produced  by  them  are  sculptures 
of  their  kings  going  out  to  battle,  or  receiving  the  homage 
of  conquered  armies.  And  you  must  remember  also,  as 
one  of  the  great  keys  to  the  splendor  of  the  Egyptian  na-  15 
tion,  that  the  priests  were  not  occupied  in  theology  only. 
Their  theology  was  the  basis  of  practical  government  and 
law;  so  that  they  were  not  so  much  priests  as  religious 
judges;  the  office  of  Samuel,®  among  the  Jews,  being 
as  nearly  as  possible  correspondent  to  theirs.  20 

89.  All  the  rudiments  of  art  then,  and  much  more  than 
the  rudiments  of  all  science,  are  laid  first  by  this  great 
warrior-nation,  which  held  in  contempt  all  mechanical 
trades,  and  in  absolute  hatred  the  peaceful  life  of  shep- 
herds. From  Egypt  art  passes  directly  into  Greece,  where  25 
all  poetry,  and  all  painting,  are  nothing  else  than  the  de- 
scription, praise,  or  dramatic  representation  of  war,  or  of 
the  exercises  which  prepare  for  it,  in  their  connection  with 
offices  of  religion.  All  Greek  institutions  had  first  respect 
to  war;  and  their  conception  of  it,  as  one  necessary  office  3a 
of  all  human  and  divine  life,  is  expressed  simply  by  the 
images  of  their  guiding  gods.  Apollo  is  the  god  of  all 
wisdom  of  the  intellect ; he  bears  the  arrow  and  the  bow, 


78 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


before  he  bears  the  lyre.°  Again,  Athena  is  the  goddess 
of  all  wisdom  in  conduct.  It  is  by  the  helmet  and  the 
shield,  oftener  than  by  the  shuttle,  that  she  is  distinguished 
from  other  deities. 

5 90.  There  were,  however,  two  great  differences  in  princi- 

ple between  the  Greek  and  the  Egyptian  theories  of  polic}\ 
In  Greece  there  was  no  soldier  caste;  every  citizen  was 
necessarily  a soldier.  And,  again,  while  the  Greeks  rightly 
despised  mechanical  arts  as  much  as  the  Egyptians,  they 
lo  did  not  make  the  fatal  mistake  of  despising  agricultural 
and  pastoral  life ; but  perfectly  honored  both.  These  two 
conditions  of  truer  thought  raise  them  quite  into  the  high- 
est rank  of  wise  manhood  that  has  yet  been  reached ; for 
all  our  great  arts,  and  nearly  all  our  great  thoughts,  have 
15  been  borrowed  or  derived  from  them.  Take  away  from 
us  what  they  have  given ; and  I hardly  can  imagine  how 
low  the  modern^  European  would  stand. 

91.  Now,  you  are  to  remember,  in  passing  to  the  next 
phase  of  history,  that  though  you  must  have  war  to  produce 
20  art  — you  must  also  have  much  more  than  war ; namely, 
an  art-instinct  or  genius  in  the  people ; and  that,  though 
all  the  talent  for  painting  in  the  world  won't  make  paint- 
ers of  you,  unless  you  have  a gift  for  fighting®  as  well, 
you  may  have  the  gift  for  fighting,  and  none  for  painting. 
25  Now,  in  the  next  great  dynasty  of  soldiers,  the  art -instinct 
is  wholly  wanting.  I have  not  yet  investigated  the  Roman 
character  enough  to  tell  you  the  causes  of  this;  but  I 
believe,  paradoxical®  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  that,  however 
truly  the  Roman  might  say  of  himself  that  he  was  born  of 
30  Mars,  and  suckled  by  the  wolf,®  he  was  nevertheless,  at 

^ The  modern,  obs^erve,  because  we  have  lost  all  inheritance 
from  Florence  or  Venice,  and  are  now  pensioners  upon  the  Cl  reeks 
only. 


WAR 


79 


heart,  more  of  a farmer  than  a soldier.  The  exercises 
of  war  were  with  him  practi(;al,  not  poetical;  his  poetry 
was  in  domestic  life  only,  and  the  object  of  battle,  ‘'pads 
imponere  morem.^^°  And  the  arts  are  extinguished  in  his 
hands,  and  do  not  rise  again,  until,  with  Gothic  chivalry,  5 
there  comes  back  into  the  mind  of  Europe  a passionate 
delight  in  war  itself,  for  the  sake  of  war.  And  then,  with 
the  romantic  knighthood  which  can  imagine  no  other 
noble  en.ployment,  — under  the  fighting  kings  of  France, 
England,  and  Spain ; and  under  the  fighting  dukeships  and  10 
citizenships  of  Italy,  art  is  born  again,  and  rises  to  her 
height  in  the  great  valleys  of  Lombardy®  and  Tuscany, 
through  which  there  flows  not  a single  stream,  from  all 
their  Alps®  or  Apennines,®  that  did  not  once  run  dark  red 
from  battle : and  it  reaches  its  culminating  glory  in  the  15 
city  which  gave  to  history  the  most  intense  type  of  soldier- 
ship yet  seen  among  men ; — the  city  whose  armies  were 
led  in  their  assault  by  their  king,  led  through  it  to  victory 
by  their  king,^  and  so  led,  though  that  king  of  theirs  was 
blind,  and  in  the  extremity  of  his  age.  20 

92.  And  from  this  time  forward,  as  peace  is  established 
or  extended  in  Europe,  the  arts  decline.  They  reach  an 
unparalleled  pitch  of  costliness,  but  lose  their  life,  enlist 
themselves  at  last  on  the  side  of  luxury  and  various  cor- 
ruption, and,  among  wholly  tranquil  nations,  wither  25 
utterly  away;  remaining  only  in  partial  practice  among 
races  who,  like  the  French  and  us,  have”"  still  the  minds, 
though  we  cannot  all  live  the  lives,  of  soldiers. 

93.  “ It  maybe  so,^^  I can  suppose  that  a philanthropist® 
might  exclaim.  “ Perish  then  the  arts,  if  they  can  flourish  30 
only  at  such  a cost.  What  worth  is  there  in  toys  of  canvas 

^ Henry  Dandolo : the  King  of  Bohemia  is  very  grand,  too,  and 
by  the  issue,  his  knighthood  is.  to"  us,  more  memorable. 


80 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


and  stone,  if  compared  to  the  joy  and  peace  of  artless  do- 
mestic life  ? And  the  answer  is  — truly,  in  themselves, 
none.  But  as  expressions  of  the  highest  state  of  the  hu- 
man spirit,  their  worth  is  infinite.  As  results  they  may  be 
5 worthless,  but,  as  signs,  they  are  above  price.  For  it  is 
an  assured  truth  that,  whenever  the  faculties  of  men  are 
at  their  fulness,  they  inust  express  themselves  by  art ; and 
to  say  that  a state  is  without  such  expression,  is  to  say  that 
it  is  sunk  from  its  proper  level  of  manly  nature.  So  that, 
lo  when  I tell  you  that  war  is  the  foundation  of  all  the  arts,  I 
mean  also  that  it  is  the  foundation  of  all  the  high  virtues 
and  faculties  of  men. 

94.  It  is  very  strange  to  me  to  discover  this ; and  very 
dreadful  — but  I saw  it  to  be  quite  an  undeniable  fact. 

15  The  common  notion  that  peace  and  the  virtues  of  civil 
life  flourished  together,  I found  to  be  wholly  untenable. 
Peace  and  the  vices  of  civil  life  only  flourish  together.  We 
talk  of  peace  and  learning,  and  of  peace  and  plenty,  and  of 
peace  and  civilization ; but  I found  that  those  were  not  the 
20  words  which  the  ^luse  of  History®  coupled  together : that 
on  her  lips,  the  words  were  — peace  and  sensuality,  peace 
and  selfishness,  peace  and  corruption,  peace  and  death. 
I found,  in  brief,  that  all  great  nations  learned  their  truth 
of  word,  and  strength  of  thought,  in  war ; that  they  were 
25  nourished  in  war,  and  wasted  by  peace;  taught  by  war, 
and  deceived  by  peace ; trained  by  war,  and  betrayed  by 
peace ; — in  a word,  that  they  were  born  in  war  and  ex- 
pired in  peace.® 

95.  Yet  now  note  carefully,  in  the  second  place,  it  is 
30  not  all  war  of  which  this  can  be  said  — nor  all  dragon's 

teeth,  which,  sown,  will  start  up  into  men.®  It  is  not  the 
ravage  of  a barbarian  wolf-flock,  as  under  (tenseric  or 
Suwarrow®;  nor  the  habitual  restlessness  and  rapine  of 


WAR 


81 


mountaineers,  as  on  the  old  borders  of  Scotland®;  nor 
the  occasional  struggle  of  a strong  peaceful  nation  for  its 
life,  as  in  the  wars  of  the  Swiss  with  Austria®;  nor  the 
contest  of  merely  ambitious  nations  for  extent  of  power, 
as  in  the  wars  of  France  under  Napoleon,®  or  the  just  5 
terminated  war  in  America.®  None  of  these  forms  of  war 
build  anything  but  tombs.  But  the  creative  or  founda- 
tional war  is  that  in  which  the  natural  restlessness  and  love 
of  contest  among  men  are  disciplined,  by  consent,  into 
■ modes  of  beautiful  — though  it  may  be  fatal  — play : in  ic 
which  the  natural  ambition  and  love  of  power  of  men  are 
disciplined  into  the  aggressive  conquest  of  surrounding 
evil:  and  in  which  the  natural  instincts  of  self-defence 
are  sanctified  by  the  nobleness  of  the  institutions,  and 
purity  of  the  households,  which  they  are  appointed  to  15 
defend.  To  such  war  as  this  all  men  are  born ; in  such  war 
as  this  any  man  may  happily  die ; and  out  of®  such  war  as 
this  have  arisen  throughout  the  extent  of  past  ages,  all  the 
highest  sanctities  and  virtues  of  humanity. 

I shall  therefore  divide  the  war  of  which  I w’ould  speak  20 
to  you  into  three  heads.  War  for  exercise  or  play;  war 
for  dominion ; and,  war  for  defence. 

96.  I.  And  first,  of  war  for  exercise  or  play.  I speak 
of  it  primarily,  in  this  light,  because,  through  all  past 
history,  manly  war  has  been  more  an  exercise  than  any-  25 
thing  else,  among  the  classes  who  cause,  and  proclaim  it. 

It  is  not  a game  to  the  conscript,  or  the  pressed  sailor®; 
but  neither  of  these  are  the  causers  of  it.  To  the  gov- 
ernor who  determines  that  war  shall  be,  and  to  the  youths 
who  voluntarily  adopt  it  as  their  profession,  it  has  always  3c 
been  a grand  pastime;  and  chiefly  pursued  because  they 
had  nothing  else  to  do.  And  this  is  true  without  any  ex- 
ception. No  king  whose  mind  was  fully  occupied  with  the 

G 


82 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


development  of  the  inner  resources  of  his  kingdom,  or  with 
any  other  sufficing  subject  of  thought,  ever  entered  into 
war  but  on  compulsion.  No  youth  who  was  earnestly 
bus}^  with  any  peaceful  subject  of  study,  or  set  on  any 
5 serviceable  course  of  action,  ever  voluntarily  became  a 
soldier.  Occupy  him  early  and  wisely,  in  agriculture  or 
business,  in  science  or  in  literature,  and  he  will  never 
think  of  war  otherwise  than  as  a calamity.^  But  leave 
him  idle ; and,  the  more  brave  and  active  and  capable  he  is 
lo  by  nature,  the  more  he  will  thirst  for  some  appointed 
field  for  action ; and  find,  in  the  passion  and  peril  of  battle, 
the  only  satisfying  fulfilment  of  his  unoccupied  being. 
And  from  the  earliest  incipient  civilization  until  now,  the 
population  of  the  earth  divides  itself,  when  you  look  at  it 
15  widely,  into  two  races ; one  of  workers,  and  the  other  of 
players  — one  tilling  the  ground,  manufacturing,  building, 
and  otherwise  providing  for  the  necessities  of  life ; — the 
other  part  proudly  idle,  and  continually  therefore  needing 
recreation,  in  which  they  use  the  productive  and  laborious 
20  orders®  partly  as  their  cattle,  and  partly  as  their  puppets 
or  pieces  in  the  game  of  death.® 

97.  ^Now,  remember,  whatever  virtue  or  goodliness 
there  may  be  in  this  game  of  war,  rightly  played,  there  is 
none  when  you  thus  play  it  with  a multitude  of  /..uman 
25  pawns.® 

If  you,  the  gentlemen  of  this  or  any  other  kingdom, 


^ A wholesome  calamity,  observe,  not  to  be  shrunk  from,  thougli 
not  to  be  provoked. 

2 I dislike  more  and  more  every  day  the  declamatory  forms  in 
which  what  1 most  desired  to  make  impressive  was  arranged  for 
oral  delivery,  but  these  two  paragraphs,  97  and  98,  sacrifice  no 
accuracy  in  their  endeavor  to  be  pompous,  and  are  among  the 
most  importnntly  triic  j)assages  T liave  ever  written. 


WAR 


83 


choose  to  make  your  pastime  of  contest,  do  so,  and  wel- 
come ; but  set  not  up  these  unhappy  peasant-pieces  upon 
the  checker  of  forest  and  field.®  If  the  wager  is  to  be  of 
death,  lay  it  on  your  own  heads,  not  theirs.  A goodly 
struggle  in  the  Olympic  dust,®  though  it  be  the  dust  of  the 
grave,  the  gods  will  look  upon,  and  be  with  you  in® ; but 
they  will  not  be  with  you,  if  you  sit  on  the  sides  of  the 
amphitheatre,®  whose  steps  are  the  mountains  of  earth, 
whose  arena®  its  valleys,  to  urge  your  peasant®  millions 
into  gladiatorial®  war.  You  also,  you  tender  and  delicate 
women,  for  whom,  and  by  whose  command,  all  true  battle 
has  been,  and  must  ever  be;  you  would  perhaps  shrink 
now,  though  you  need  not,  from  the  thought  of  sitting  as 
(jueens  above  set  lists  where  the  jousting®  game  might  be 
mortal.  How  much  more,  then,  ought  you  to  shrink 
from  the  thought  of  sitting  above  a theatre  pit  in  which 
even  a few  condemned  slaves  were  slaying  each  other  only 
for  your  delight ! And  do  you  not  shrink  from  the  fact 
of  sitting  above  a theatre  pit,  where,  — not  condemned 
slaves,  — but  the  best  and  bravest  of  the  poor  sons  of 
your  people,  slay  each  other,  — not  man  to  man,  — as  the 
coupled  gladiators ; but  race  to  race,  in  duel  of  genera- 
tions? You  would  tell  me,  perhaps,  that  you  do  not  sit 
to  see  this ; and  it  is  indeed  true,  that  the  women  of  Europe 
— those  who  have  no  heart-interest  of  their  own  at  peril  in 
the  contest  — draw  the  curtains  of  their  boxes,  and  muffle 
the  openings ; so  that  from  the  pit  of  the  circus  of  slaughter 
there  may  reach  them  only  at  intervals  a half-heard  cry 
and  a murmur  as  of  the  wind^s  sighing,  when  myriads  of 
souls  expire.  They^  shut  out  the  death-cries ; and  are 
happy,  and  talk  wittily  among  themselves.  That  is  the 
utter  literal  fact  of  what  our  ladies  do  in  their  pleasant 
lives. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


84 


THE  GROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


98.  Nay,  you  might  answer,  speaking  with  them^ 
— do  not  let  these  wars  come  to  pass  for  our  play, 
nor  by  our  carelessness ; we  cannot  help  them.  How  can 
any  final  quarrel  of  nations  be  settled  otherwise  than  by 
5 war  ? 

I cannot  now  delay  to  tell  you  how  political  quarrels 
might  be  otherwise  settled.  But  grant  that  they  cannot. 
Grant  that  no  law  of  reason  can  be  understood  by  nations ; 
no  law  of  justice  submitted  to  by  them:  and  that,  while 
lo  questions  of  a few  acres,  and  of  petty  cash,  can  be  deter- 
mined by  truth  and  equity,  the  questions  which  are  to 
issue  in  the  perishing  or  saving  of  kingdoms  can  be  deter- 
mined only  by  the  truth  of  the  sword,  and  the  equity  of 
the  rifle.  Grant  this,  and  even  then,  judge  if  it  will  always 
15  be  necessary  for  you  to  put  your  quarrel  into  the  hearts 
of  your  poor,  and  sign  your  treaties  with  peasants^  blood. 
You  would  be  ashamed  to  do  this  in  your  own  private 
position  and  power.  Why  should  you  not  be  ashamed 
also  to  do  it  in  public  place  and  power?  If  you  quarrel 
20  with  your  neighbor,  and  the  quarrel  be  indeterminable  by 
law,  and  mortal,  you  and  he  do  not  send  your  footmen  to 
Battersea®  fields  to  fight  it  out ; nor  do  you  set  fire  to  his 
tenants^  cottages,  nor  spoil  their  goods.  You  fight  out 
your  quarrel  yourselves,  and  at  your  own  danger,  if  at  all. 
25  And  you  do  not  think  it  materially  affects  the  arbitrament® 
that  one  of  you  has  a larger  household  than  the  other ; so 
that,  if  the  servants  or  tenants  were  brought  into  the  field 
with  their  masters,  the  issue  of  the  contest  could  not  be 
doubtful?  You  either  refuse  the  private  duel,  or  you 
30  practise  it  under  laws  of  honor,®  not  of  physical  force ; that 
so  it  may  be,  in  a manner,  justly  concluded.  Now  the 
just  or  unjust  conclusion  of  the  private  feud  is  of  little 
moment,  while  the  just  or  unjust  conclusion  of  the  public 


WAR 


85 


jfeud  is  of  eternal  moment : and  yet,  in  this  public  quarrel, 
you  take  your  servants^  sons  from  their  arms  to  fight  for  it, 
and  your  servants^  food  from  their  lips  to  support  it ; and 
the  black  seals  on  the  parchment  of  your  treaties  of  peace 
are  the  deserted  hearth  and  the  fruitless  field. 

99.  There  is  a ghastly  ludicrousness  in  this,  as  there  is 
mostly  in  these  wide  and  universal  crimes.  Hear  the 
statement  of  the  very  fact  of  it  in  the  most  literal  words  of 
the  greatest  of  our  English  thinkers® : — 

What,  speaking  in  quite  unofficial  language,  is  the  net 
purport  and  upshot  of  war?  To  my  own  knowledge,  for 
example,  there  dwell  and  toil,  in  the  British  village  of 
Dumdrudge,  usually  some  five  hundred  souls.  From 
these,  by  certain  ^natural  enemies^  of  the  French,  there  are 
successively  selected,  during  the  French  war,  say  thirty 
able-bodied  men.  Dumdrudge,  at  her  own  expense,  has 
suckled  and  nursed  them ; she  has,  not  without  difficulty 
and  sorrow,  fed  them  up  to  manhood,  and  even  trained 
them  to  crafts,  so  that  one  can  weave,  another  build, 
another  hammer,  and  the  weakest  can  stand  under  thirty 
stone  avoirdupois.®  Nevertheless,  amid  much  weeping 
and  swearing,  they  are  selected;  all  dressed  in  red;  and 
shipped  away,  at  the  public  charges,  some  two  thousand 
miles,  or  say  only  to  the  south  of  Spain ; and  fed  there  till 
wanted. 

‘E4nd  now  to  that  same  spot  in  the  south  of  Spain  are 
thirty  similar  French  artisans,  from  a French  Dum- 
drudge, in  like  manner  wending ; till  at  length,  after  in- 
finite effort,  the  two  parties  come  into  actual  juxtaposition ; 
and  Thirty  stands  fronting  Thirty,  each  with  a gun  in  his 
hand. 

^^Straightway  the  word  ‘Fire!^  is  given,  and  they  blow 
the  souls  out  of  one  another,  and  in  place  of  sixty  brisk 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


80 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


useful  craftsmen,  tlie  world  has  sixty  dead  carcaSes,  which 
it  must  bury,  and  anon  shed  tears  for.  Had  these  men 
any  quarrel?  Busy  as  the  devil  is,°  not  the  smallest! 
They  lived  far  enough  apart ; were  the  entirest  strangers ; 

5 nay,  in  so  wide  a universe,  there  was  even,  unconsciously, 
commerce,  some  mutual  helpfulness  between  them. 
How  then?  Simpleton!  their  governors  had  fallen  out; 
and  instead  of  shooting  one  another,  had  the  cunning  to 
make  these  poor  blockheads  shoot. (Sartor  Resartus.°) 
lo  100.  Positively,  then,  gentlemen,  the  game  of  battle 
must  not,  and  shall  not,  ultimately  be  played  this  way. 
But  should  it  be  played  any  way?  Should  it,  if  not  by 
your  servants,  be  practised  by  yourselves?  I think,  yes. 
Both  history  and  human  instinct  seem  alike  to  say,  yes. 
15  All  healthy  men  like  fighting,  and  like  the  sense- of  danger ; 
all  brave  women  like  to  hear  of  their  fighting,  and  of  their 
facing  danger.  This  is  a fixed  instinct  in  the  fine  race  of 
them°;  and  I cannot  help  fancying  thatTair  fight  is  the 
best  play  for  them ; and  that  a tournament  was  a better 
20  game  than  a steeple-chase.®  The  time  may  perhaps  come 
in  France  as  well  as  here,  for  universal  hurdle-races  and 
cricketing®:  but  I do  not  think  universal  crickets  will 
bring  out  the  best  qualities  of  the  nobles  of  either  countr}^ 
I use,  in  sucn  (juestion,  the  test  which  I have  adopted,  of 
25  the  connection  of  war  with  other  arts ; and  I reflect  how, 
as  a sculptor,  I should  feel,  if  I were  asked  to  design  a 
monument  for  a dead  knight,  in  Westminster  abbey,®  with 
a carving  of  a bat  at  one  end,  and  a ball  at  the  other.  It 
may  be  the  remains  in  me  only  of  savage  Gothic  prejudice ; 
30  but  I had  rather  carve  it  with  a shield  at  one  end,  and  a 
sword  at  the  other.  And  this,  observe,  with  no  reference 
whatever  to  any  story  of  duty  done,  or  cause  defended. 
Assume  the  knight  merely  to  have  ridden  out  occasionally 


JVAB 


87 


to  fight  his  neighbor  for  exercise ; assume  him  even  a 
soldier  of  fortune,  and  to  have  gained  his  bread,  and  filled 
his  purse,  at  the  sword^s  point.  Still,  I feel  as  if  it  were, 
somehow,  grander  and  worthier  in  him  to  have  made  his 
bread  by  sword  play  than  any  other  play ; I had  rather  he  5 
had  made  it  by  thrusting  than  by  batting ; — much  rather, 
than  by  betting.  Much  rather  that  he  should  ride  war 
horses,  than  back  race  horses ; and  — I say  it  sternly  and 
deliberately  — much  rather  would  I have  him  slay  his 
neighbor,  than  cheat  him.®  lo 

101.  But  remember,  so  far  as  this  ma}^  be  true,  the  game 
of  war  is  only  that  in  which  the  full  personal  power  of  the 
human  creature  is  brought  out  in  management  of  its 
weapons.  And  this  for  three  reasons  : — 

First,  the  great  justification  of  this  game  is  that  it  truly,  15 
when  well  played,  determines  who  is  the  best  man;  — who 
is  the  highest  bred,  the  most  self-denying,  the  most  fear- 
less, the  coolest  of  nerve,  the  swiftest  of  eye  and  hand. 
You  cannot  test  these  qualities  wholly,  unless  there  is  a 
clear  possibility  of  the  struggle's  ending  in  death.  It  20 
is  only  in  the  fronting  of  that  condition  that  the  full  trial 
of  the  man,  soul  and  body,  comes  out.  You  may  go  to 
your  game  of  wickets,  or  of  hurdles,  or  of  cards,  and  any 
knavery  that  is  in  yon  may  stay  unchallenged  all  the  while. 
But  if  the  play  may  be  ended  at  any  moment  by  a lance-  25 
thrust,  a man  will  probably  make  up  his  accounts  a little 
before  he  enters  it.  Whatever  is  rotten  and  evil  in  him  will 
weaken  his  hand  more  in  holding  a sword-hilt,  than  in 
balancing  a billiard-cue ; and  on  the  whole,  the  habit  of 
living  lightly  hearted,  in  daily  presence  of  death,  always  3c 
has  had,  and  must  have,  power  both  in  the  making®  and 
testing  of  honest  men.  But  for  the  final  testing,  observe, 
you  must  make  the  issue  of  battle  strictly  dependent  on 


88 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


fineness  of  frame,  and  firmness  of  hand.  You  must  not 
make  it  the  question,  which  of  the  combatants  has  the 
longest  gun,  or  which  has  got°  behind  the  biggest  tree,  or 
which  has  the  wind  in  his  face,  or  which  has  gunpowder 
5 made  by  the  best  chemists,  or  iron  smelted  with  the  best 
coal,  or  the  angriest  mob  at  his  back.  Decide  your  battle, 
whether  of  nations,  or  individuals,  on  those  terms ; — and 
you  have  only  multiplied  confusion,  and  added  slaughter 
to  iniquity.  But  decide  your  battle  by  pure  trial  which 
lo  has  the  strongest  arm,  and  steadiest  heart,  — and  you 
have  gone  far  to  decide  a great  many  matters  besides,  and 
to  decide  them  rightly.^ 

102.  And  the  other  reasons  for  this  mode  of  decision  of 
cause,  are  the  diminution  both  of  the  material  destructive- 
15  ness,  or  cost,  and  of  the  physical  distress  of  war.  For 
you  must  not  think  that  in  speaking  to  you  in  this  (as  you 
may  imagine),  fantastic  praise  of  battle,  I have  overlooked 
the  conditions  weighing  against  me.  I pray  all  of  you, 
who  have  not  read,  to  read  with  the  most  earnest  atten- 
20  tion,  Mr.  Helps ^s°  two  essays  on  War  and  Government,  in 
the  first  volume  of  the  last  series  of  Friends  in  Council. 
Everything  that  can  be  urged  against  war  is  there  simply, 
exhaustively,  and  most  graphically  stated.  And  all,  there 
urged,  is  true.  But  the  two  great  counts  of  evil  alleged 
25  against  war  by  that  most  thoughtful  writer,  hold  only 
against  modern  war.  If  you  have  to  take  away  masses  of 
men  from  all  industrial  employment,  — to  feed  them  by 
the  labor  of  others,  — to  provide  them  with  destructive 
machines,®  varied  daily  in  national  rivalship  of  inventive 
30  cost ; if  you  have  to  ravage  the  country  which  you  attack, 
— to  destroy  for  a score  of  future  }^ears,  its  roads,  its 
woods,  its  cities,  and  its  harbors ; — and  if,  finally,  having 
^ Compare  Fors  Clavigera,  Letter  XIV.,  p.  9. 


WAR 


89 


brought  masses  of  men,  counted  by  hundreds  of  thousa  nds, 
face  to  face,  you  tear  those  masses  to  pieces  with  jagged 
shot,  and  leave  the  living  creatures,®  countlessly  beyond 
all  help  of  surgery,  to  starve  and  parch,  through  days  of 
torture,  down  into  clots  of  clay  — what  book  of  accounts  5 
shall  record  the  cost  of  your  work;  — what  book  of  judg- 
ment sentence  the  guilt  of  it  ? 

103.  That,  I say,  is  modern  war,  — scientific  war,  — 
chemical  and  mechanic  war,  — how  much  worse  than  the 
savage^s  poisoned  arrow®  ! And  yet  you  will  tell  me,  per-  10 
haps,  that  any  other  war  than  this  is  impossible  now.  It 
may  be  so;  the  progress  of  science  cannot,  perhaps,  be 
otherwise  registered  than  by  new  facilities  of  destruction ; 
and  the  brotherly  love  of  our  enlarging  Christianity  be  only 
proved  by  multiplication  of  murder.  Yet  hear,  for  a 15 
moment,  what  war  was,  in  Pagan  and  ignorant  days ; — 
w^hat  war  might  yet  be,  if  we  could  extinguish  our  science 
in  darkness,  and  join  the  heathen ^s  practice  to  the  Chris- 
tianas theory.  I read  you  this  from  a book  which  probably 
most  of  you  know  well,  and  all  ought  to  know  — Muller's  20 

Dorians";^  — but  I have  put  the  points  I wish  you  to 
remember  in  closer  connection  than  in  his  text. 

104.  “The  chief  characteristic  of  the  warriors  of  Sparta® 
was  great  composure  and  subdued  strength ; the  violence 
(Xwo-a)®  of  Aristodemus®  and  Isadas®  being  considered  25 
as  deserving  rather  of  blame  than  praise ; and  these  quali- 
ties in  general  distinguished  the  Greeks  from  the  northern 
Barbarians,®  whose  boldness  always  consisted  in  noise  and 
tumult.  For  the  same  reason  the  Spartans  sacrificed  to 
the  Muses  before  an  action;  these  goddesses  being  ex- 30 
pected  to  produce  regularity  and  order  in  battle ; as  they 
sacrificed  on  the  same  occasion  in  Crete^  to  the  god  of  love,  as 

^ Vol.  ii.,  chap.  12,  § 9. 


90 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


the  confirmer  of  mutual  esteem  and  shame.  Every  man 
put  on  a crown,  when  the  band  of  flute-players  gave  the 
signal  for  attack ; all  the  shields  of  the  line  glittered  with 
their  high  polish,  and  mingled  their  splendor  with  the  dark 
5 red  of  the  purple  mantles,  which  were  meant  both  to  adorn 
the  combatant,  and  to  conceal  the  blood  of  the  wounded ; 
to  fall  well  and  decorously  being  an  incentive  the  more  to 
the  most  heroic  valor.  The  conduct  of  the  Spartans  in 
battle  denotes  a high  and  noble  disposition,  which  rejected 
VO  all  the  extremes  of  brutal  rage.  The  pursuit  of  the  enemy 
ceased  when  the  victory  was  completed;  and  after  the 
signal  for  retreat  had  been  given,  all  hostilities  ceased. 
The  spoiling  of  arms,  at  least  during  the  battle,  was  also 
interdicted®;  and  the  consecration  of  the  spoils  of  slain 
15  enemies  to  the  gods,  as,  in  general,  all  rejoicings  for  victory, 
were  considered  as  ill-omened. 

105.  Such  was  the  war  of  the  greatest  soldiers  who 
prayed  to  heathen  gods.  What  Christian  war  is,  preached 
by  Christian  ministers,  let  any  one  tell  you,  who  saw  the 

20  sacred  crowning,  and  heard  the  sacred  flute-playing,  and 
was  inspired  and  sanctified  by  the  divinely-measured  and 
musical  language,®  of  any  North  American  regiment  pre- 
paring for  its  charge.  And  what  is  the  relative  cost  of  life 
in  Pagan  and  Christian  wars,  let  this  one  fact  tell  you : — 
25  the  Spartans  won  the  decisive  battle  of  Corinth®  with  the 
loss  of  eight  men ; the  victors  at  indecisive  Gettysburg® 
confess  to  the  loss  of  30,000. 

106.  II.  I pass  now  to  our  second  order  of  war,  the  com- 
monest among  men,  that  undertaken  in  desire  of  dominion. 

30  And  let  me  ask  you  to  think  for  a few  moments  what  the 
real  meaning  of  this  desire  of  dominion  is  — first  in  tlie 
minds  of  kings  — then  in  that  of  nations. 

Now,  mind  you  this  first,  — that  I speak  either  about 


WAR 


91 


kings,  oi-  masses  of  men,  with  a fixed  conviction  that 
human  nature  is  a noble  and  beautiful  thing;  not  a foul 
nor  a base  thing.  All  the  sin  of  men  I esteem  as  their 
disease,  not  their  nature;  as  a folly  which  may  be  pre- 
vented, not  a necessity  which  must  be  accepted.  And 
my  wonder,  even  when  things  are  at  their  worst,  is  always 
at  the  height  which  this  human  nature  can  attain.  Think- 
ing it  high,  I find  it  always  a higher  thing  than  I thought 
it ; while  those  who  think  it  low,  find  it,  and  will  find  it, 
always  lower  than  they  thought  it : the  fact  being,  that  it 
is  infinite,  and  capable  of  infinite  height  and  infinite  fall , 
but  the  nature  of  it  — and  here  is  the  faith  which  I would 
have  you  hold  with  me  — the  nature  of  it  is  in  the  noble- 
ness, not  in  the  catastrophe. 

107.  Take  the  faith  in  its  utmost  terms.  When  the 
captain  of  the  London’^  shook  hands  with  his  mate, 
saying  ^^God  speed  you ! I will  go  down  with  m}^  passen- 
gers,^^ that  I believe  to  be  human  nature. He  does  not 
do  it  from  any  religious  motive  — from  any  hope  of  re- 
ward, or  any  fear  of  punishment ; he  does  it  because  he  is 
a man.  But  when  a mother,  living  among  the  fair  fields 
of  merry  England,  gives  her  two-year-old  child  to  be 
suffocated  under  a mattress  in  her  inner  room,  while  the 
said  mother  waits  and  talks  outside®;  that  I believe  to  be 
not  human  nature.  You  have  the  two  extremes  there, 
shortly.  And  you,  men,  and  mothers,  who  are  here  face 
to  face  with  me  to-night,  I call  upon  you  to  say  which  of 
these  is  human,  and  which  inhuman  — which  “naturaE^ 
and  which  ^GinnaturaE^  ? Choose  your  creed®  at  once,  I 
beseech  you : — choose  it  with  unshaken  choice  — choose 
it  forever.  Will  you  take,  for  foundation  of  act  and  hope, 
the  faith  that  this  man  was  such  as  God  made  him,  or  that 
this  woman  was  such  as  God  made  her?  Which  of  them 


5 

r 10 

; 15 

20 

25 

30 


92 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


has  failed  from  their  nature  — from  their  present,  possible, 
actual  nature ; — not  their  nature  of  long  ago,  but  their 
nature  of  now  ? Which  has  betrayed  it  — falsified  it  ? 
Did  the  guardian  who  died  in  his  trust,  die  inhumanly, 
5 and  as  a fool ; and  did  the  murderess  of  her  child  fulfil 
the  law  of  her  being  ? Choose,  I say ; infinitude  of  choices 
hang  upon  this.  You  have  had  false  prophets  among 
you  — for  centuries  you  have  had  them  — solemnly 
warned  against  them  though  you  were;  false  prophets, 
lo  who  have  told  you  that  all  men  are  nothing  but-  fiends  or 
wolves,  half  beast,  half  devil.  Believe  that,  and  indeed 
you  may  sink  to  that.  But  refuse  that,  and  have  faith 
that  God  ^^made  you  upright,  though  you  have  sought 
out  many  inventions®;  so,  you  will  strive  daily  to  be- 
15  come  more  what  your  Maker  meant  and  means  you  to  be, 
and  daily  gives  you  also  the  power  to  be  — and  you  will 
cling  more  and  more  to  the  nobleness  and  virtue  that  is 
in  you,  saying,  My  righteousness  I hold  fast,  and  will  not 
let  it  go.^^° 

20  108.  I have  put  this  to  you  as  a choice,  as  if  you  might 

hold  either  of  these  creeds  you  liked  best.  But  there  is 
in  reality  no  choice  for  you;  the  facts  being  finite  easily 
ascertainable.  You  have  no  business  to  think  about  this 
matter,  or  to  choose  in  it.  The  broad  fact  is,  that  a hu- 
25  man  creature  of  the  highest  race,  and  most  perfect  as  a 
human  thing,  is  invariably  both  kind  and  true ; and  that 
as  you  lower  the  race,  you  get  cruelty  and  falseness,  as 
you  get  deformity : and  this  so  steadily  and  assuredly,  that 
the  two  great  words  which,  in  their  first  use,  meant  only 
30  perfection  of  race,  have  come,  by  consequence  of  the  in- 
variable connection  of  virtue  with  the  fine  human  nature, 
both  to  signify  benevolence  of  disposition.  The  word 
generous,  and  the  word  gentle,  both,  in  their  origin. 


WAR 


93 


meant  only  pure  race/’  but  because  charity  and  ten- 
derness are  inseparable  from  this  purity  of  blood,  the 
words  which  once  stood  only  for  pride,  now  stand  as 
synonyms  for  virtue. 

109.  Now,  this  being  the  true  power  of  our  inherent  5 
humanity,  and  seeing  that  all  the  aim  of  education  should 
be  to  develop  this ; — and  seeing  also  what  magnificent 
self-sacrifice  the  higher  classes  of  men  are  capable  of, 
for  any  cause  that  they  understand  or  feel,  — it  is  wholly 
inconceivable  to  me  how  well-educated  princes,  who  ought  10 
to  be  of  all  gentlemen  the  gentlest,  and  of  all  nobles  the 
most  generous,  and  whose  title  of  royalty  means  only  their 
function  of  doing  every  man  right”  — how  these,  I say, 
throughout  history,  should  so  rarely  pronounce  themselves 
on  the  side  of  the  poor  and  of  justice,  but  continually  15 
maintain  themselves  and  their  own  interests  by  oppression 
of  the  poor,  and  by  wresting  of  justice;  and  how  this 
should  be  accepted  as  so  natural,  that  the  word  loyalty, 
which  means  faithfulness  to  law,  is  used  as  if  it  were  only 
the  duty  of  a people  to  be  loyal  to  their  king,  and  not  the  20 
duty  of  a king  to  be  infinitely  more  loyal  to  his  people. 
How  comes  it  to  pass  that  a captain  will  die  with  his  pas- 
sengers, and  lean  over  the  gunwale  to  give  the  parting  boat 
its  course ; but  that  a king  will  not  usually  die  with,  much 
less  for,  his  passengers,  — thinks  it  rather  incumbent  on  25 
his  passengers  in  any  number,  to  die  for  him  f 

110. °  Think,  I beseech  you,  of  the  wonder  of  this. 
The  sea  captain,  not  captain  by  divine  right,  but  only 
by  company's  appointment;  — not  a man  of  royal  de- 
scent, but  only  a plebeian°  who  can  steer ; — not  with  the  30 
eyes  of  the  world  upon  him,  but  with  feeble  chance,  de- 
pending on  one  poor  boat,  of  his  name  being  ever  heard 
above  the  wash  of  the  fatal  waves ; — not  with  the  cause 


94 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


of  a nation  resting  on  his  act,  but  helpless  to  save  so  much 
as  a child  from  among  the  lost  crowd  with  whom  he  re- 
solves to  be  lost,  — yet  goes  down  (juietly  to  his  grave, 
rather  than  break  his  faith  to  these  few  emigrants.  But 
5 your  captain  by  divine  right,®  — your  captain  with  the 
hues®  of  a hundred  shields  of  kings  upon  his  breast,  — 
your  captain  whose  every  deed,  brave  or  base,  will  be 
illuminated  or  branded  forever  before  unescapable  eyes  of 
men,  — your  captain  whose  eveiy  tliought  and  act  are 
lo  beneficent,  or  fatal,  from  sunrising  to  setting,  blessing  as 
the  sunshine,  or  shadowing  as  the  night,  — this  captain, 
as  you  find  him  in  history,  for  the  most  part  thinks  only 
how  he  may  tax  his  passengers,  and  sit  at  most  ease  in  his 
state  cabin ! 

15  111.  For  observe,  if  there  had  been  indeed  in  the  hearts 

of  the  rulers  of  great  multitudes  of  men  any  such  concep- 
tion of  work  for  the  good  of  those  under  their  command,  as 
there  is  in  the  good  and  thoughtful  masters  of  any  small 
company  of  men,  not  only  wars  for  the  sake  of  mere  in- 
20  crease  of  power  could  never  take  place,  but  our  idea  of 
power  itself  would  be  entirely  altered . Do  you  suppose  that 
to  think  and  act  even  for  a million  of  men,  to  hear  their 
complaints,  watch  their  weaknesses,  restrain  their  vices, 
make  laws  for  them,  lead  them,  day  by  day,  to  purer  life, 
25  is  not  enough  for  one  man’s  work?  If  any  of  us  were  ab- 
solute lord  only  of  a district  of  a hundred  miles  scjuare, 
and  were  resolved  on  doing  our  utmost  for  it ; making  it 
feed  as  large  a number  of  people  as  possible  ; making  every 
clod  productive,  and  every  rock  defensive,  and  every 
30  human  being  happy;  should  we  not  have  enough  on  our 
hands,  think  you? 

112.®  But  if  the  i*uler  has  any  otluu-  aim  th;ui  this; 
if,  careless  of  tlie  result  of  his  inu'rfercnce,  he  d(‘sii‘e  only 


WAR 


95 


the  authority  to  interfere;  and,  regardless  of  what  is  ill- 
done  or  well-done,  cares  only  that  it  shall  be  done  at  his 
bidding;  — if  he  would  rather  do  two  hundred  miles^ 
space  of  mischief,  than  one  hundred  miles  ^ space  of  good, 
of  course  he  will  try  to  add  to  his  territory;  and  to  add  5 
inimitably.  But  does  he  add  to  his  power?  Do  you  call 
it  power  in  a child,  if  he  is  allowed  to  play  with  the  wheels 
and  bands  of  some  vast  engine,  pleased  with  their  murmur 
and  whirl,  till  his  unwise  touch,  wandering  where  it  ought 
not,  scatters  beam  and  wheel  into  ruin?  Yet  what  ma- to 
chine  is  so  vast,  so  incognizable,  as  the  working  of  the  mind 
of  a nation ; what  child ^s  touch  so  wanton,  as  the  word  of  a 
selfish  king  ? And  yet,  how  long  have  we  allowed  the  his- 
torian to  speak  of  the  extent  of  the  calamity  a man  causes, 
as  a just  ground  for  his  pride ; and  to  extol  him  as  the  great-  15 
est  prince,  who  is  only  the  centre  of  the  widest  error. 
Follow  out  this  thought  by  yourselves;  and  you  will  find 
that  all  power,  properly  so  called,  is  wise  and  benevolent. 
There  may  be  capacity  in  a drifting  fire-ship  to  destroy  a 
fleet ; there  may  be  venom  enough  in  a dead  body  to  infect  20 
a nation : — but  which  of  you,  the  most  ambitious,  would 
desire  a drifting  kinghood,  robed  in  consuming  fire,  or 
a poison-dipped  sceptre  whose  touch  was  mortal  ? There 
is  no  true  potency,  remember,  but  that  of  help ; nor  true 
ambition,  but  ambition  to  save.  25 

113.  And  then,  observe  farther,®  this  true  power,  the 
power  of  saving,  depends  neither  on  multitude  of  men, 
nor  on  extent  of  territory.  We  are  continually  assuming 
that  nations  become  strong  according  to  their  numbers. 
They  indeed  become  so,  if  those  numbers  can  be  made  of  30 
one  mind  ; but  how  are  you  sure  you  (^an  stay  them  in  one 
mind,  and  keep  them  from  ha\’ing  north  and  south  minds? 
Grant  them  unanimous,  how  know  you  they  will  be  unani- 


96 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


mous  in  right  ? If  they  are  unanimous  in  wrong,  the  more 
they  are,  essentially  the  weaker  they  are.  Or,  suppose 
that  they  can  neither  be  of  one  mind,  nor  of  two  minds, 
but  can  only  be  of  no  mind?  Suppose  they  are  a mere 
5 helpless  mob ; tottering  into  precipitant  catastrophe,  like 
a waggon-load  of  stones  when  the  wheel  comes  off.  Dan- 
gerous enough  for  their  neighbors,  certainly,  but  not  pow- 
erful. 

114.  Neither  does  strength  depend  on  extent  of  terri- 
lo  tory,  any  more  than  upon  number  of  population.  Take 

up  your  maps  when  you  go  home  this  evening,  — put  the 
cluster  of  British  Isles  beside  the  mass  of  South  America; 
and  then  consider  whether  any  race  of  men  need  care 
how  much  ground  they  stand  upon.  The  strength  is  in 
15  the  men,®  and  in  their  unity  and  virtue,  not  in  their  stand- 
ing room : a little  group  of  wise  hearts  is  better  than  a 
wilderness  full  of  fools®;  and  only  that  nation  gains  true 
territory,  which  gains  itself. 

115.  And  now  for  the  brief  practical  outcome  of  all  this. 
20  Remember,  no  government  is  ultimately  strong,  but  in 

proportion  to  its  kindness  and  justice ; and  that  a nation 
does  not  strengthen,  by  merely  multiplying  and  diffusing 
itself.  We  have  not  strengthened  as  yet,  by  multiplying 
into  America.®  Nay,  even  when  it  has  not  to  encounter 
25  the  separating  conditions  of  emigration,  a nation  need  not 
boast  itself  of  multiplying  on  its  own  ground,  if  it  multi- 
plies only  as  flies  or  locusts  do,  with  the  god  of  flies  for  its 
god.  It  multiplies  its  strength  only  by  increasing  as  one 
great  family,  in  perfect  fellowship  and  brotherhood. 
30  And  lastly,  it  does  not  strengthen  itself  by  seizing  domin- 
ion over  races  whom  it  cannot  benefit.  Austria®  is  not 
strengthened,  but  weakened,  by  her  gras]^  of  Lombardy  ; 
and  whatever  apparent  increase  of  majesty  and  of  wealth 


WAB 


97 


iiiay  have  accrued  to  us  from  the  possession  of  India,  ° 
whether  these  prove  to  us  ultimately  power  or  weakness, 
depends  wholly  on  the  degree  in  which  our  influence  on 
the  native  race  shall  be  benevolent  and  exalting. 

116. °  But,  as  it  is  at  their  own  peril  that  any  race  ex- 
tends their  dominion  in  mere  desire  of  power,  so  it  is  at 
their  own  still  greater  peril  that  they  refuse  to  undertake 
aggressive  war,  according  to  their  force,  whenever  they  are 
assured  that  their  authority  would'  be  helpful  and  pro- 
tective. Nor  need  you  listen  to  any  sophistical  objection 
of  the  impossibility  of  knowing  when  a people's  help  is 
needed,  or  when  not.  Make  your  national  conscience 
clean,  and  your  national  eyes  will  soon  be  clear.  No  man 
who  is  truly  ready  to  take  part  in  a noble  quarrel  will 
ever  stand  long  in  doubt  by  whom,  or  in  what  cause,  his  aid 
is  needed.  I hold  it  my  duty  to  make  no  political  state- 
ment of  any  special  bearing  in  this  presence ; but  I tell  you 
broadly  and  boldly,  that,  within  these  last  ten  }^ears,  we 
English  have,  as  a knightly  nation,  lost  our  spurs : we 
have  fought  where  we  should  not  have  fought,  for  gain ; 
and  we  have  been  passive  where  we  should  not  have  been 
passive,  for  fear.  I tell  you  that  the  principle  of  non-in- 
tervention, as  now  preached  among  us,  is  as  selfish  and 
cruel  as  the  v/orst  frenzy  of  conquest,  and  differs  from  it 
only  by  being  not  only  malignant,  but  dastardly. 

117. °  I know,  however,  that  my  opinions  on  this  sub- 
ject differ  too  widely  from  those  ordinarily  held,  to  be  any 
farther  intruded  upon  you ; and  therefore  I pass  lastly  to 
examine  the  conditions  of  the  third  kind  of  noble  war ; — 
war  waged  simply  for  defence  of  the  country  in  which  we 
were  born,  and  for  the  maintenance  and  execution  of  her 
laws,  by  whomsoever  threatened  or  defied.  It  is  to  this 
duty  that  I suppose  most  men  entering  tlie  army  consider 

H 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


98 


THE  CRO  WN  OF  WILT)  OUVE 


themselves  in  reality  to  be  bound,  and  I want  you  now  to 
reflect  what  the  laws  of  mere  defence  are ; and  what  the 
soldier's  duty,  as  now  understood,  or  supposed  to  be 
understood.  You  have  solemnly  devoted  yourselves  to  be 
5 English  soldiers,  for  the  guardianship  of  England.  I want 
you  to  feel  what  this  vow  of  yours  indeed  means,  or  is 
gradually  coming  to  mean. 

118.  You  take  it  upon  you,  first,  while  you  are  senti- 
mental schoolboys ; you  go  into  your  military  convent,  or 
lo  barracks,  just  as  a girl  goes  into  her  convent  while  she  is  a 
sentimental  schoolgirl ; neither  of  you  then  know  what 
you  are  about,  though  both  the  good  soldiers  and  the  good 
nuns  make  the  best  of  it  afterwards.  You  don't  under- 
stand perhaps  why  I call  you  ‘^sentimental"  schoolboys, 
15  when  you  go  into  the  army?  Because,  on  the  whole,  it  is 
love  of  adventure,  of  excitement,  of  fine  dress  and  of  the 
pride  of  fame,  all  which  are  sentimental  motives,  which 
chiefly  make  a boy  like  going  into  the  Guards  better  than 
into  a counting-house.  You  fancy,  perhaps,  that  there 
20  is  a severe  sense  of  duty  mixed  with  these  peacocky  mo- 
tives°  ? And  in  the  best  of  you,  there  is ; but  do  not  think 
that  it  is  principal.  If  you  cared  to  do  your  duty  to  your 
country  in  a prosaic  and  unsentimental  way,  depend  upon 
it,  there  is  now  truer  duty  to  be  done  in  raising  harvests, 
25  than  in  burning  them ; more  in  building  houses,  than  in 
shelling  them  — more  in  winning  money  by  your  own 
work,  wherewith  to  help  men,  than  in  taxing  other  people's 
work,  for  money  wherewith  to  slay  men;  more  duty 
finally,  in  honest  and  unselfish  living  than  in  honest  and 
30  unselfish  dying,  though  that  seems  to  your  boys'  eyes  the 
bravest.  So  far  then,  as  for  your  own  honor,  and  the 
honor  of  your  families,  you  choose  brave  death  in  a red 
coat  before  brave  life  in  a i)lack  one,  you  are  senlirnental; 


WAM 


99 


and  now  see  what  this  passionate  vow  of  yours  comes  to. 
For  a little  while  you  ride,  and  you  hunt  tigers  or  savages, 
you  shoot,  and  are  shot;  you  are  happy,  and  proud, 
always,  and  honored  and  wept  if  you  die ; and  you  are 
satisfied  with  your  life,  and  with  the  end  of  it;  be- 
lieving, on  the  whole,  that  good  rather  than  harm  of  it 
comes  to  others,  and  much  pleasure  to  you. 

119.  But  as  the  sense  of  duty  enters  into  your  forming 
minds,  the  vow  takes  another  aspect.  You  find  that  you 
have  put  yourselves  into  the  hand  of  your  country  as  a 
weapon.  You  have  vowed  to  strike,  when  she  bids  you, 
and  to  stay  scabbarded°  when  she  bids  you ; all  that  you 
need  answer  for  is,  that  you  fail  not  in  her  grasp.  And 
there  is  goodness  in  this,  and  greatness,  if  you  can  trust 
the  hand  and  heart  of  the  Britomart®  who  has  braced  you 
to  her  side,  and  are  assured  that  when  she  leaves  you 
sheathed  in  darkness,  ° there  is  no  need  for  your  flash  to  the 
sun.  But  remember,  good  and  noble  as  this  state  may  be, 
it  is  a state  of  slavery.  There  are  different  kinds  of  slaves 
and  different  masters.  Some  slaves  are  scourged  to  their 
work  by  whips,  others  are  scourged  to  it  by  restlessness 
or  ambition.  It  does  not  matter  what  the  whip  is;  it  is 
none  the  less  a whip,  because  you  have  cut  thongs  for  it 
out  of  your  own  souls:  the  fact,  so  far,  of  slavery,  is  in 
being  driven  to  your  work  without  thought,  at  another's 
bidding.  Again,  some  slaves  are  bought  with  money, 
and  others  with  praise.  It  matters  not  what  the  purchase- 
money  is.  The  distinguishing  sign  of  slavery  is  to  have  a 
price,  and  be  bought  for  it.  Again,  it  matters  not  what 
kind  of  work  you  are  set  on ; some  slaves  are  set  to  forced 
diggings,  others  to  forced  marches;  some  dig  furrows, 
others  field-works,  and  others  graves.  Some  press  the 
juice  of  reeds,  and  some  the  juice  of  vines,  and  some  the 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


100 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


blood  of  men.  The  fact  of  the  captivity  is  the  same  what- 
ever  work  we  are  set  upon,  though  the  fruits  of  the  toil 
may  be  different. 

120.  But,  remember,  in  thus  vowing  ourselves  to  be  the 
5 slaves  of  any  master,  it  ought  to  be  some  subject  of  fore- 
thought with  us,  what  wmrk  he  is  likely  to  put  us  upon. 
You  may  think  that  the  whole  duty  of  a soldier  is  to  be 
passive,  that  it  is  the  country  you  have  left  behind  who  is 
to  command,  and  you  have  only  to  obey.  But  are  you 
lo  sure  that  you  hav3  left  all  your  country  behind,  or  that 
the  part  of  it  you  have  so  left  is  indeed  the  best  part  of  it  ? 
Suppose  — and,  remember,  it  is  quite  conceivable  — that 
you  yourselves  are  indeed  the  best  part  of  England ; that 
you,  who  have  become  the  slaves,  ought  to  have  been  the 
15  masters;  and  that  those  who  are  the  masters,  ought  to 
have  been  the  slaves ! If  it  is  a noble  and  whole-hearted 
England,  whose  bidding  you  are  bound  to  do,  it  is  well; 
but  if  you  are  yourselves  the  best  of  her  heart,  and  the 
England  you  have  left  be  but  a half-hearted  England, 
20  how  say  you  of  your  obedience?  You  were  too  proud  to 
become  shop-keepers  : are  you  satisfied  then  to  become  the 
servants  of  shop-keepers  ? You  were  too  proud  to  become 
merchants  or  farmers  yourselves:  will  you  have  mer- 
chants or  farmers  then  for  your  field  marshals?  You 
25  had  no  gifts  of  special  grace  for  Exeter  Hall°:  will  you 
have  some  gifted  person  thereat  for  your  commander-in- 
chief, to  judge  of  your  work,  and  reward  it?  You  im- 
agine yourselves  to  be  the  army  of  England : how  if  you 
should  find  yourselves,  at  last,  only  the  police  of  he:’  manu- 
3 facturing  towns,  and  the  beadles  of  her  Ihtle  Be'diels®? 

12L°  It  is  not  so  yet,  nor  will  be  so,  I trust,  forever; 
but  \vhat  I want  you  to  see,  and  to  be  assured  of,  is,  tliat 
the  ideal  of  soldiership  is  not  mere  passive  obedience  and 


WAR 


101 


bravery ; that,  so  far  from  this,  no  country  is  in  a healthy 
state  which  has  separated,  even  in  a small  degree,  her  civil 
from  her  military  power.  All  states  of  the  world,  how^ever 
great,  fall  at  once  when  they  use  mercenary  armies ; and 
although  it  is  a less  instant  form  of  error  (because  involving  5 
no  national  taint  of  cowardice),  it  is  yet  an  error  no  less 
ultimately  fatal  — it  is  the  error  especially  of  modern 
times,  of  which  we  cannot  yet  know  all  the  calamitous  con- 
sequences — to  take  away  the  best  blood  and  strength  of 
the  nation,  all  the  soul-substance  of  it  that  is  brave,  and  ic 
careless  of  reward,  and  scornful  of  pain,  and  faithful  in 
trust ; and  to  cast  that  into  st.eel,  and  make  a mere  sword 
of  it;  taking  away  its  voice  and  will;  but  to  keep  the 
worst  part  of  the  nation  — whatever  is  cowardly,  ava- 
ricious, sensual,  and  faithless  — and  to  give  to  this  the  15 
voice,  to  this  the  authority,  to  this  the  chief  privilege, 
where  there  is  least  capacity,  of  thought. 

122.  The  fulfilment  of  your  vow  for  the  defence  of  Eng- 
land will  by  no  means  consist  in  carrying  out  such  a sys- 
tem. You  are  not  true  soldiers,  if  you  only  mean  to  stand  20 
at  a shop  door,  to  protect  shop-boys  who  are  cheating  inside. 

A soldier^s  vow  to  his  country  is  that  he  will  die  for  the 
guardianship  of  her  domestic  virtue,  of  her  righteous  la^vs, 
and  of  her  anyw^ay  challenged  or  endangered  honor.  A 
state  without  virtue,  without  laws,  and  without  honor,  he  25 
is  bound  not  to  defend ; nay,  bound  to  redress  by  his  own 
right  hand  that  which  he  sees  to  be  base  in  her. 

123.  So  sternly  is  this  the  law  of  Nature  and  life,  that  a 
nation  once  utterly  corrupt  can  only®  be  redeemed  by  a 
military  despotism  — never  by  talking,  nor  by  its  free  3^ 
effort.  And  the  health  of  any  state  consists  simply  in 
this : that  in  it,  those  who  are  wisest  shall  also  be  strong- 
est; its  rulers  should  be  also  its  soldiers;  or,  rather,  by 


102 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


force  of  intellect  more  than  of  sword,  its  soldiers  also  its 
rvters.  Whatever  the  hold  which  the  aristocracy  of  Eng- 
Iand°  has  on  the  heart  of  England,  in  that  they  are  still 
always  in  front  of  her  battles,  this  hold  will  not  be  enough, 
5 unless  they  are  also  in  front  of  her  thoughts.  And  truly 
her  thoughts  need  good  captain ^s  leading  now,  if  ever ! 
Do  you  know  what,  by  this  beautiful  division  of  labor  (her 
brave  men  fighting,  and  her  cowards  thinking),  she  has 
come  at  last  to  think  ? Here  is  a bit  of  paper  in  my  hand,^ 
lo  a good  one  too,  and  an  honest  one ; quite  representative  of 
the  best  common  public  thought  of  England  at  this  mo- 
ment ; and  it  is  holding  forth  in  one  of  its  leaders  upon  our 
“social  welfare,’^  — upon  our  “vivid  life^^  — upon  the 
“political  supremacy  of  Great  Britain. And  what  do 
15  you  think  all  these  are  owing  to?  To  what  our  English 
sires  have  done  for  us,  and  taught  us,  age  after  age  ? No  : 
not  to  that.  To  our  honesty  of  heart,  or  coolness  of  head, 
or  steadiness  of  will?  No:  not  to  these.  To  our  think- 
ers, or  our  statesmen,  or  our  poets,  or  our  captains,  or 
20  our  martyrs,  or  the  patient  labor  of  our  poor?  No : not 


^ I do  not  care  to  refer  to  the  journal  quoted,  because  the  article 
was  unworthy  of  its  general  tone,  though  in  order  to  enable  the 
audience  to  verify  the  quoted  sentence,  I left  the  number  contain- 
ing it  on  the  table,  when  T gave  this  lecture.®  But  a saying  of 
Baron  Liebig^s,®  quoted  at  the  head  of  a leader  on  the  same  subject 
in  the  Daily*T elegraiph  of  January  11,  1866,  summarily  digests 
and  presents  the  maximum  folly  of  modern  thought  in  this  respect. 
^‘Civilization,”  says  the  Baron,  “is  the  economy  of  power,  and 
English  power  is  coal.”  Not  altogether  so,  my  chemical  friend. 
Civilization  is  the  making  of  civil  persons,  which  is  a kind  of  dis- 
tillation of  which  alembics  ° are  incapable,  and  does  not  at  all 
imply  the  turning  of  a small  company  of  gentlemen  into  a large 
com])any  of  ironmongers.  And  English  power  (what  little  of  it 
may  be  left)  is  b}^  no  means  coal,  but,  indeed,  of  that  which, 
“when  the  whole  world  turns  to  coal,  then  chiefly  lives.” 


WAR 


103 


to  these;  or  at  least  not  to  these  in  any  chief  measure. 

“ Nay,”  says  the  journal,  ‘^more  than  any  agency,  it  is  the 
cheapness  and  abundance  of  our  coal  which  have  made  us 
what  we  are.”  If  it  be  so,  then  ashes  to  ashes”®  be  our 
epitaph  ! and  the  sooner  the  better.  s 

124.  Gentlemen  of  England,®  if  ever  you  would  have 
your  country  breathe  the  pure  breath  of  heaven  again, 
and  receive  again  a soul  into  her  body,  instead  of  rotting 
into  a carcase,  blown  up  in  the  belly  with  carbonic  acid 
(and  great  that  way),  you  must  think,  and  feel,  for  your  lo 
England,  as  well  as  fight  for  her : you  must  teach  her  that 
all  the  true  greatness  she  ever  had,  or  ever  can  have,  she 
won  while  her  fields  were  green  and  her  faces  ruddy®; 

~ that  greatness  is  still  possible  for  Englishmen,  even 
though  the  ground  be  not  hollow  under  their  feet,  nor  the  15 
sky  black  over  their  heads.® 

125.  And  bear  with  me,  you  soldier  youths,®  who  are 
thus  in  all  ways  the  hope  of  your  country ; or  must  be, 
if  she  have  any  hope : if  I urge  you  with  rude  earnestness 
to  remember  that  your  fitness  for  all  future  trust  depends  20 
upon  what  you  are  now.®  No  good  soldier  in  his  old  age 
was  ever  careless  or  indolent  in  his  youth.  ]\lany  a giddy 
and  thoughtless  boy  has  become  a good  bishop,  or  a gooc 
lawyer,  or  a good  merchant ; but  no  such  an  one  ever 
became  a good  general.  I challenge  you,  in  all  history,  to  25 
find  a record  of  a good  soldier  who  was  not  grave  and 
earnest  in  his  youth.  And,  in  general,  I have  no  patience 
with  people  who  talk  about  ‘‘  the  thoughtlessness  of  youth  ” 
indulgently.  I had  infinitely  rather  hear  of  thoughtless 
old  age,  and  the  indulgence  due  to  that.  When  a man  has  30 
done  his  work,  and  nothing  can  any  way  be  materially 
altered  in  bis  fate,  let  him  forget  his  toil,  and  jest  with  his 
fate,  if  he  will ; but  what  excuse  can  you  find  for  wilfulness 


104 


THE  CROWH  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


of  thought,  at  the  very  time  when  every  crisis  of  future 
fortune  hangs  on  your  decisions  ? A youth  thoughtless  ! 
when  all  the  happiness  of  his  home  forever  depends  on  the 
chances,  or  the  passions,  of  an  hour ! A youth  thougbt- 
5 less  ! when  the  career  of  all  his  days  depends  on  the  oppor- 
tunity of  a moment ! A youth  thoughtless ! when  his 
every  act  is  as  a torch  to  the  laid  train  of  future  conduct,® 
and  every  imagination  a fountain  of  life  or  death ! Be 
thoughtless  in  any  after  years,  rather  than  now  — though, 
lo  indeed,  there  is  only  one  place  where  a man  may  be  nobly 
thoughtless,  — his  deathbed.  No  thinking  should  ever  be 
left  to  be  done  there, ^ 

126.®  Having,  then,  resolved  that  you  will  not  waste 
recklessly,  but  earnestly  use,  these  early  days  of  yours, 
15  remember  that  all  the  duties  of  her  children  to  England 
may  be  summed  in  two  words  — industry,  and  honor.  I 
say  first,  industry,  for  it  is  in  this  that  soldier  youth  are 
especially  tempted  to  fail.  Yet,  surely,  there  is  no  reason, 
because  your  life  may  possibly  or  probably  be  shorter  than 
20  other  men's,  that  you  should  therefore  waste  more  reck- 
lessly the  portion  of  it  that  is  granted  you ; neither  do  the 
duties  of  your  profession,  which  require  you  to  keep  your 
bodies  strong,  in  any  wise  involve  the  keeping  of  your 
minds  weak.  So  far  from  that,  the  experience,  the  hard- 
25  ship,  and  the  activity  of  a soldier's  life  render  his  powers 
of  thought  more  accurate  than  those  of  other  men ; and 
while,  for  others,  all  knowledge  is  often  little  more  than  a 
means  of  amusement,  there  is  no  form  of  science  which  a 
soldier  may  not  at  some  time  or  other  find  bearing  on  busi- 
30  ness  of  life  and  death.  A young  mathematician  may  be 
excused  for  languor  in  studying  curves  to  be  described 
only  with  a pencil ; but  not  in  tracing  those  which  are  to 
be  described  with  a rocket.  Your  knowledge  of  a whole- 


WAR 


105 


some  herb  may  involve  the  feeding  of  an  army;  and 
acquaintance  with  an  obscure  point  of  geography,  the  suc- 
cess of  a campaign.  Never  waste  an  instant^s  time,  there- 
fore ; the  sin  of  idleness  is  a thousand-fold  greater  in  you 
than  in  other  youths ; for  the  fates  of  those  who  will  one  5 
day  be  under  your  command  hang  upon  your  knowledge ; 
lost  moments  now  will  be  lost  lives  then,  and  every  in- 
stant which  you  carelessly  take  for  play,  you  buy  with 
blood. 

127.  But  there  is  one  way  of  wasting  time,  of  all  the  10 
vilest,  because  it  wastes,  not  time  only,  but  the  interest 
and  energy  of  your  minds.  Of  all  the  ungentlemanly 
habits  into  which  you  can  fall,  the  vilest  is  betting,  or  in- 
teresting yourselves  in  the  issues  of  betting.  It  unites 
nearly  every  condition  of  folly  and  vice;  you  concentrate  15 
your  interest  upon  a matter  of  chance,  instead  of  upon  a 
subject  of  true  knowledge;  and  you  back  opinions  which 
you  have  no  grounds  for  forming,  merely  because  they  are 
your  own.  All  the  insolence  of  egotism  is  in  this ; and  so 
far  as  the  love  of  excitement  is  complicated  with  the  20 
hope  of  winning  money,  you  turn  yourselves  into  the 
basest  sort  of  tradesmen  — those  who  live  by  speculation. 
Were  there  no  other  ground  for  industry,  this  would  be  a 
sufficient  one ; that  it  protected  you  from  the  temptation 
to  so  scandalous  a vice.  Work  faithfully,  and  you  will  25 
put  yourselves  in  possession  of  a glorious  and  enlarging 
happiness ; not  such  as  can  be  won  by  the  speed  of  a horse, 
or  marred  by  the  obliquity  of  a ball. 

128.  First,  then,  by  industry  you  must  fulfil  your  vow 
to  your  country ; but  all  industry  and  earnestness  will  be  30 
useless  unless  they  are  consecrated  by  your  resolution  to 
be  in  all  things  men  of  honor ; not  honor  in  the  common 
sense  only,  but  in  the  highest.  Rest  on  the  force  of  the 


106 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


two  main  words  in  the  great  verse,  integer  vitae,  seelerisqne 
purus°  You  have  vowed  your  life  to  England;  give  it 
her  wholly  — a bright,  stainless,  perfect  life  — a knightly 
life.®  Because  you  have  to  fight  with  machines  instead 
5 of  lances,  there  may  be  a necessity  for  more  ghastly 
danger,  but  there  is  none  for  less  worthiness  of  character, 
than  in  olden  time.  You  may  be  true  knights  yet,  though 
perhaps  not  equites,  you  may  have  to  call  yourselves 
^^cannonry ''  instead  of  chivalry,  but  that  is  no  reason 
lo  why  you  should  not  call  yourselves  true  men.  So  the 
first  thing  you  have  to  see  to  in  becoming  soldiers  is  that 
you  make  yourselves  wholly  true.  Courage  is  a mere 
matter  of  course  among  any  ordinarily  well-born  youths ; 
but  neither  truth  nor  gentleness  is  matter  of  course.  You 
15  must  bind  them  like  shields  about  }mur  necks;  you  must 
write  them  on  the  tables  of  your  hearts.®  Though  it  be 
not  exacted  of  you,  yet  exact  it  of  yourselves,  this  vow  of 
stainless  truth.®  Your  hearts  are,  if  you  leave  them  un- 
stirred, as  tombs  in  which  a god  lies  buried.  Vow  your^ 
20  selves  crusaders  to  redeem  that  sacred  sepulchre.  And 
remember,  before  all  things  — for  no  other  memory  will 
be  so  protective  of  you  — that  the  highest  law  of  this 
knightly  truth  is  that  under  which  it  is  vowed  to  women. 
Whomsoever  else  you  deceive,  whomsoever  you  injure, 
25  whomsoever  you  leave  unaided,  you  must  not  deceive, 
nor  injure,  nor  leave  unaided,  according  to  your  power, 
any  woman  of  whatever  rank.  Believe  me,  every  virtue 
of  the  higher  phases  of  manly  character  begins  in  this ; — 
in  truth  and  modesty  before  the  face  of  all  maidens;  in 
30  truth  and  pity,  or  truth  and  reverence,  to  all  womanhood. 

129.®  And  now  let  me  turn  for  a moment  to  you,  — 
wives  nnd  maidens,  who  are  the  souls  of  soldier.4 ; to  you, 
— mothers,  who  have  devoted  your  children  to  the  great 


WAR 


10' 


hierarchy  of  war.  Let  me  ask  you  to  consider  what  part 
you  have  to  take  for  the  aid  of  those  who  love  you ; for  if 
you  fail  in  your  part  they  cannot  fulfil  theirs ; such  abso- 
lute helpmates  you  are  that  no  man  can  stand  without 
that  help,  nor  labor  in  his  own  strength.  5 

I know  your  hearts,  and  that  the  truth  of  them  never 
fails  when  an  hour  of  trial  comes  which  you  recognize  for 
such.  But  you  know  not  when  the  hour  of  trial  first  finds 
you,  nor  when  it  verily  finds  you.  You  imagine  that  you 
are  only  called  upon  to  wait  and  to  suffer;  to  surrender  10 
and  to  mourn.  You  know  that  you  must  not  weaken  the 
hearts  of  your  husbands  and  lovers,  even  by  the  one  fear  of 
which  those  hearts  are  capable,  — the  fear  of  parting  from 
you,  or  of  causing  you  grief.  Through  weary  years  of 
separation ; through  fearful  expectancies  of  unknown  fate ; 15 
through  the  tenfold  bitterness  of  the  sorrow  which  might 
so  easily  have  been  joy,  and  the  tenfold  yearning  for 
glorious  life  struck  down  in  its  prime  — through  all  these 
agonies  you  fail  not,  and  never  will  fail.  But  your  trial 
is  not  in  these.  To  be  heroic  in  danger  is  little ; — you  20 
are  Englishwomen.  To  be  heroic  in  change  and  sway  of 
fortune  is  little ; — for  do  you  not  love  ? To  be  patient 
through  the  great  chasm  and  pause  of  loss  is  little ; — 
for  do  you  not  still  love  in  heaven?  But  to  be  heroic  in 
happiness;  to  bear  yourselves  gravely  and  righteously  in 25 
the  dazzling  of  the  sunshine  of  morning ; not  to  forget  the 
God  in  whom  you  trust,  when  He  gives  you  most ; not  to 
fail  those  who  trust  you,  when  they  seem  to  need  you 
least ; this  is  the  difficult  fortitude.  It  is  not  in  the  pining 
of  absence,  not  in  the  peril  of  battle,  not  in  the  wasting  of  30 
sickness,  that  your  prayer  should  be  most  passionate,  or  your 
guardianship  most  tender.  Pray,  mothers  and  maidens, 
for  your  young  soldiers  in  the  bloom  of  their  pride; 


108  THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 

pray  for  them,  while  the  only  dangers  round  them  are  in 
their  own  wayward  wills ; watch  you,  and  pray,  when  they 
have  to  face,  not  death,  but  temptation.®  But  it  is  this 
fortitude  also  for  which  there  is  the  crowning  reward. 

5 Believe  me,  the  whole  course  and  character  of  your  lovers^ 
lives  is  in  your  hands ; what  you  would  have  them  be, 
they  shall  be,  if  you  not  only  desire  to  have  them  so,  but 
deserve  to  have  them  so ; for  they  are  but  mirrors  in  which 
you  will  see  yourselves  imaged.  If  you  are  frivolous,  they 
lo  will  be  so  also ; if  you  have  no  understanding  of  the  scope 
of  their  duty,  they  also  will  forget  it ; they  will  listen, — 
they  can  listen,  — to  no  other  interpretation  of  it  than 
that  uttered  from  your  lips.  Bid  them  be  brave ; — they 
will  be  brave  for  you;  bid  them  be  cowards;  and  how 
15  noble  soever  they  be;  — they  will  quail  for  you.  Bid 
them  be  wise,  and  they  will  be  wise  for  you ; mock  at  their 
counsel,  they  will  be  fools  for  you : such  and  so  absolute 
is  your  rule  over  them.  You  fancy,  perhaps,  as  you  have 
been  told  so  often,  that  a wife^s  rule  should  only  be  over 
20  her  husband ^s  house,  not  over  his  mind.  Ah,  no ! the 
true  rule  is  just  the  reverse  of  that;  a true  wife,  in  her 
husband ^s  house,  is  his  servant;  it  is  in  his  heart  that  she 
is  queen.  Whatever  of  best®  he  can  conceive,  it  is  her  part 
to  be ; whatever  of  highest  he  can  hope,  it  is  hers  to  prom- 
25  ise ; all  that  is  dark  in  him  she  must  purge  into  purity ; all 
that  is  failing  in  him  she  must  strengthen  into  truth  : from 
her,  through  all  the  world ^s  clamor,  he  must  win  his  praise ; 
in  her,  through  all  the  world  ^s  warfare,  he  must  find  his 
peace. 

30  130.  And,  now,  but  one  word  more.  You  may  wonder, 

perhaps,  that  I have  spoken  all  this  night  in  praise  of  war. 
Yet,  truly,  if  it  might  be,  I,  for  one,  would  fain  join  in  the 
cadence  of  hammer-strokes  that  should  beat  swords  into 


WAR 


109 


ploughshares'^ : and  that  this  cannol  be,  is  not  the  fault  of 
us  men.  It  is  your  fault.  Wholly  yours.  Only  by  your 
command,  or  by  your  permission,  can  any  contest  take 
place  among  us.  And  the  real,  final,  reason  for  all  the 
poverty,  misery,  and  rage  of  battle,  throughout /Europe,  5 
is  simply  that  you  women,  however  good,  however  reli- 
gious, however  self-sacrificing  for  those  whom  you  love, 
are  too  selfish  and  too  thoughtless  to  take  pains  for  any 
creature  out  of  your  own  immediate  circles.  You  fancy 
that  you  are  sorry  for  the  pain  of  others.  Now  I j jst  tell  10 
you  this,  that  if  the  usual  course  of  war,  instead  of  unroof- 
ing peasants^  houses,  and  ravaging  peasants’  fields,  merely 
broke  the  china  upon  your  own  drawing-room  tables,  no 
war  in  civilized  countries  would  last  a week.  I tell  you 
more,  that  at  whatever  moment  you  chose  to  put  a period  15 
to  war,°  you  could  do  it  with  less  trouble  than  you  take 
any  day  to  go  out  to  dinner.  You  know,  or  at  least  you 
might  know  if  you  would  think,  that  every  battle  you  hear 
of  has  made  many  widows  and  orphans.  We  have,  none  of 
us,  heart  enough  truly  to  mourn  with  these.  But  at  least  20 
we  might  put  on  the  outer  symbols  of  mourning  with 
them.  Let  but  every  Christian  lady  who  has  conscience 
toward  God,  vow  that  she  will  mourn,  at  least  outwardly, 
for  His  killed  creatures.  Your  praying  is  useless,  and  your 
churchgoing  mere  mockery  of  God,  if  you  have  not  plain  25 
obedience®  in  you  enough  for  this.  Let  every  lady  in  the 
upper  classes  of  civilized  Europe  simply  vow  that,  while 
any  cruel  war  proceeds,  she  will  wear  black;  — a mute’s 
black,  — with  no  jewel,  no  ornament,  no  excuse  for,  or 
evasion  into  prettiness.  — I tell  you  again,  no  war  would  30 
last  a week. 

131.  And  lastly.  You  women  of  England  are  all  now 
shrieking  with  one  voice,  — you  and  your  clergymen 


110 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 


together,  — because  you  hear  of  your  Bibles  being  at- 
tacked.® If  you  choose  to  obey  your  Bibles,  you  will 
never  care  who  attacks  them.  It  is  just  because  you  never 
fulfil  a single  downright  precept  of  the  Book,  that  you  are 
5 so  careful  for  its  credit : and  just  because  you  don^t  care 
to  obey  its  whole  words,  that  you  are  ^o  particular  about 
the  letters  of  them.  The  Bible  tells  you  to  dress  plainly,® 
— and  you  are  mad  for  finery ; the  Bible  tells  you  to  have 
pity  on  the  poor,®  — and  you  crush  them  under  your 
xo  carriage- wheels ; the  Bible  tells  you  to  do  judgment  and 
justice,  — and  you  do  not  know,  nor  care  to  know,  so 
much  as  what  the  Bible  word  justice  means.  Do  but 
learn  so  much  of  God^s  truth  as  that  comes  to ; know  what 
He  means  when  He  tells  you  to  be  just : and  teach  your 
15  sons,  that  their  bravery  is  but  a foohs  boast,  and  their 
deeds  b . : a firebrand ^s  tossing,  unless  they  are  indeed  Just 
men,  and  Perfect  in  the  Fear  of  God ; — and  you  will  soon 
have  no  more  war,  unless  it  be  indeed  such  as  is  willed  by 
Him,  of  whom,  though  Prince  of  Peace,®  it  is  also  written, 
20  ^^In  Righteousness  He  doth  judge,  and  make  war.^^® 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Preface 
The  Que 

EN  OF  THE  Air  : 

I. 

Athena  in  the  Heavens 

• 

. 117 

II. 

Athena  in  the  Earth  . 

. 

. 1(57 

III. 

Athena  in  the  Heart  . 

. 

. 205 

The  Hercules  of  Camarina 

. 257 

112 


PREFACE 


i.  My  days  and  strength  have  lately  been  much  broken ; 
and  I never  more  felt  the  insufficiency  of  both  than  in 
preparing  for  the  press  the  following  desultory  memoranda 
on  a most  noble  subject.  But  I leave  them  now  as  they 
stand,  for  no  time  nor  labor  would  be  enough  to  complete  5 
them  to  my  contentment ; and  I believe  that  they  contain 
suggestions  which  may  be  followed  with  safety,  by  per- 
sons who  are  beginning  to  take  interest  in  the  aspects  of 
mythology,  which  only  recent  investigation  has  removed 
from  the  region  of  conjecture  into  that  of  rational  inquiry.  10 
I have  some  advantage,  also,  from  my  field  work,  in  the 
interpretation  of  myths  relating  to  natural  phenomena; 
and  I have  had  always  near  me,  since  we  were  at  college 
together,  a sure,  and  unweariedly  kind,  guide,  in  my  friend 
Charles  Newton,®  to  whom  we  owe  the  finding  of  more  15 
treasure  in  mines  of  marble  than,  were  it  rightly  esti- 
mated, all  California  could  buy.  I must  not,  however, 
permit  the  chance  of  his  name  being  in  any  wise  associated 
with  my  errors.  Much  of  my  work  has  been  done  obsti- 
nately in  my  own  way ; and  he  is  never  responsible  for  20 
me,  though  he  has  often  kept  me  right,  or  at  least  enabled 
me  to  advance  in  a right  direction.  Absolutely  right  no 
one  can  be  in  such  matters ; nor  does  a day  pass  without 
convincing  every  honest  student  of  antiquity  of  some  par- 
tial error,  and  showing  him  better  how  to  think,  and  where  25 
to  look.  But  I knew  that  there  was  no  hope  of  my  being 
able  to  enter  with  advantage  on  the  fields  of  history 
113 


I 


114 


PREFACE 


opened  by  the  splendid  investigation  of  recent  philologists, 
though  I could  qualify  myself,  by  attention  and  sympathy, 
to  understand,  here  and  there,  a verse  of  Homer^s  or 
Hesiod’s,  as  the  simple  people  did  for  whom  they  sang. 

5 ii.  Even  while  I correct  these  sheets  for  press,  a lecture  by 
Professor  TyndalP  has  been  put  into  my  bands,  which  I 
ought  TO  have  heard  last  16th  of  January j but  was  hin- 
dered by  mischance;  and  which,  I now  find,  completes, 
in  two  important  particulars,  the  evidence  of  an  instinctive 
lo  truth  in  ancient  symbolism ; showing,  first,  that  the  Greek 
conception  of  an  setherial  element  pervading  space  is  justi- 
fied by  the  closest  reasoning  of  modern  physicists;  and, 
secondly,  that  the  blue  of  the  sky,  hitherto  thought  to  be 
caused  by  watery  vapor,  is,  indeed,  reflected  from  the 
15  divided  air  itself ; so  that  the  bright  blue  of  the  eyes  of 
Athena,®  and  the  deep  blue  of  her  aegis,  prove  to  be  ac- 
curate mythic  expressions  of  natural  phenomena  which  it 
is  an  uttermost  triumph  of  recent  science  to  have  revealed, 
iii.  Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  triumph 
20  more  complete.  To  form,  ^Gvithin  an  experimental  tube,  a 
bit  of  more  perfect  sky  than  the  sky  itself  ! here  is  magic 
of  the  finest  sort ! singularly  re^^ersed  from  that  of  old  time, 
which  only  asserted  its  competency  to  enclose  in  bottles 
elemental  forces  that  were  not  of  the  sky. 

25  iv.  Let  me,  in  thanking  Professor  Tyndnll  for  the  true 
wonder  of  this  piece  of  work,  ask  his  pardon,  and  that  of  all 
masters  in  physical  science,  for  any  words  of  mine,  either 
in  the  following  pages  or  elsewhere,  that  may  ever  seem  to 
fail  in  the  respect  due  to  their  great  powers  of  thought,  or 
30  in  the  admiration  due  to  the  far  scope  of  their  discovery. 
But  I will  be  judged  by  themselves,  if  I have  not  bitter 
reason  to  ask  them  to  teach  us  more  than  yet  they  have 
taught. 


PREFACE 


115 


V.  This  first  day  of  May,  1869,  I am  writing  where  my 
work  was  begun  thirty-five  years  ago,  within  sight  of  the 
snows  of  the  higher  Alps.  In  that  half  of  the  permitted 
life  of  man,  I have  seen  strange  evil  brought  upon  every 
scene  that  I best  loved,  or  tried  to  make  beloved-by  others.  5 
The  light  which  once  flushed  those  pale  summits  with  its 
rose  at  dawn,  and  purple  at  sunset,  is  now  umbered  and 
faint;  the  air  which  once  inlaid  the  clefts  of  all  their 
golden  crags  with  azure  is  now  defiled  with  languid  coils 
of  smoke,  belched  from  worse  than  volcanic  fires° ; their  10 
very  glacier  waves  are  ebbing,  and  their  snows  fading,  as 
if  Hell  had  breathed  on  them ; the  waters  that  once  sank 
at  their  feet  into  crystalline  rest  are  now  dimmed  and  foul, 
from  deep  to  deep,  and  shore  to  shore.  These  are  no  care- 
less words  — they  are  accurately,  horribly,  true.  I know  15 
what  the  Swiss  lakes  were ; no  pool  of  Alpine  fountain  at 
its  source  was  clearer.  This  morning,  on  the  Lake  of 
Geneva,  at  half  a mile  from  the  beach,  I could  scarcely  see 
my  oar-blade  a fathom  deep. 

vi.  The  light,  the  air,  the  waters,  all  defiled  ! How  of  the  20 
earth  itself  ? Take  this  one  fact  for  type  of  honor  done  by 
the  modern  Swiss  to  the  earth  of  his  native  land.  There 
uc>ed  to  be  a little  rock  at  the  end  of  the  avenue  by  the  port 
of  NeuchateP  ; there,  the  last  marble  of  the  foot  of  JuraP 
sloping  to  the  blue  water,  and  (at  this  time  of  }"ear)  cov-  25 
ered  with  bright  pink  tufts  of  Saponaria.®  I went,  three 
days  since,  to  gather  a blossom  at  the  place.  The  goodly 
native  rock  and  its  flowers  were  covered  with  the  dust  and 
refuse  of  the  town ; but,  in  the  middle  of  the  avenue,  was 
a newly  constructed  artificial  rockery,  with  a fountain  3c 
twisted  through  a spinning  spout,  and  an  inscription  on 
one  of  its  loose-tumbled  stones,  — 

“ Aux  Bofaiiistes, 

Le  club  Jurassique,^’ ° 


116 


PREFACE 


Ah,  masters  of  modern  science,  give  me  back  my  Athena 
out  of  your  vials,  and  seal,  if  it  may  be,  once  more.  As- 
modeus®  therein.  You  have  divided  the  elements,  and 
united  them ; enslaved  them  upon  the  earth,  and  dis- 
5 cerned  them  in  the  stars.  Teach  us,  now,  but  this  of 
them,  which  is  all  that  man  need  know,  — that  the  Air  is 
given  to  him  for  his  life ; and  the  Rain  to  his  thirst,  and 
for  his  baptism ; and  the  Fire  for  warmth ; and  the  Sui* 
for  sight ; and  the  Earth  for  his  meat  — and  his  Rest. 


Vevay,  May  1,  1869. 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


I 

ATHENA  CHALINITIS* 

{Athena  in  the  Heavens) 

LECTURE  ON  THE  GREEK  MYTHS  OF  STORM,  GIVEN 
(partly)  in  UNIVERSITY  COLLEGE, 

LONDON,  MARCH  9,  1869 

1.  I WILL  not  ask  your  pardon  for  endeavoring  to  in- 
terest you  in  the  subject  of  Greek  Mythology^;  but  I 
must  ask  your  permission  to  approach  it  in  a temper  differ- 
ing from  that  in  which  it  is  frequently  treated.  We  can- 
not justly  interpret  the  religion  of  any  people,  unless  5 
we  are  prepared  to  admit  that  we  ourselves,  as  well  as 
they,  are  liable  to  error  in  matters  of  faith;  and  that 
the  convictions  of  others,  however  singular,  may  in 
some  points  have  been  well  founded,  while  our  own, 
however  reasonable,  may  in  some  particulars  be  mis- 10 
taken.  You  must  forgive  me,  therefore,  for  not  always 
distinctively  calling  the  creeds  of  the  past  superstition, 
and  the  creeds  of  the  present  day  ‘Yeligion^^;  as  well  as 
for  assuming  that  a faith  now  confessed  may  sometimes 
be  superficial,  and  that  a faith  long  forgotten  may  once  15 
have  been  sincere.  It  is  the  task  of  the  Divine  to  condemn 

1 Athena  the  Restrainer/’  The  name  is  given  to  her  as  hav> 
ing  helped  Bellerophon°  to  bridle  Pegasus,®  the  flying  cloud. 

117 


118 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


the  errors  of  antiquity,  and  of  the  philologists  to  account 
for  them  ; I will  only  pray  you  to  read,  with  patience,  and 
human  sympathy,  the  thoughts  of  men  who  lived  without 
blame  in  a darkness  they  could  not  dispel ; and  to  remem - 
5 ber  that,  whatever  charge  of  folly  may  justly  attach  to  the 
saying,  ‘"'There  is  no  God,’^°  the  folly  is  prouder,  deeper, 
and  less  pardonable,  in  saying,  “There  is  no  God  but  for 
xneF 

2.  A myth,  in  its  simplest  definition,  is  a story  with  a 
lo  meaning  attached  to  it  other  than  it  seems  to  have  at  first ; 
and  the  fact  that  it  has  such  a meaning  is  generally  marked 
by  some  of  its  circumstances  being  extraordinary,  or,  in 
the  common  use  of  the  word,  unnatural.  Thus,  if  I tell 
you  that  Hercules  killed  a water-serpent  in  the  lake  of 
15  Lerna,°  and  if  I mean,  and  you  understand,  nothing  more 
than  that  fact,  the  story,  whether  true  or  falsa,  is  not  a 
myth.  But  if  by  telling  you  this,  I mean  that  Hercules 
purified  the  stagnation  of  many  streams  from  deadly 
miasmata, ° my  story,  however  simple,  is  a true  myth; 
20  only,  as,  if  I left  it  in  that  simplicity,  you  would  probably 
look  for  nothing  beyond,  it  will  be  wise  in  me  to  surprise 
your  attention  by  adding  some  singular  circumstance; 
for  instance,  that  the  water-snake  had  several  heads, 
which  revived  as  fast  as  the}"  were  killed,  and  which  poi- 
25  soned  even  the  foot  that  trod  upon  them  as  they  slept. 
And  in  proportion  to  the  fulness  of  intended  meaning  I 
shall  ]:)robably  multiply  and  refine  upon  these  improbabili- 
ties ; as,  suppose,  if,  instead  of  desiring  only  to  tell  you  that 
Hercules  purified  a marsh,  I wished  you  to  understand 
30  tiiat  he  contended  with  the  venom  and  vapor  of  envy  and 
evil  ambition,  whether  in  other  men^s  souls  or  in  his  own, 
and  choked  that  malaria  only  by  supreme,  toil,  — I might 
tell  you  that  tliis  serpent  was  fornu'd  by  the  goddess  whoii(j 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


119 


pride  was  in  the  trial  of  Hercules ; and  that  its  i)lace  of 
abode  was  a palm-tree ; and  that  for  every  head  of  it 
th'^t  was  cut  off,  two  rose  up  with  renewed  life ; and  that 
the  hero  found  at  last  he  could  not  kill  the  creature  at  all 
by  cutting  its  heads  off  or  crushing  them,  but  only  by 
burning  them  down ; and  that  the  midmost  of  them  could 
not  be  killed  even  that  way,  but  had  to  be  buried  alive. 
Only  in  proportion  as  I mean  more,  I shall  certainly  ap- 
pear more  absurd  in  my  statement;  and  at  last,  when 
I get  unendurably  significant,  all  practical  persons  will 
agree  that  I was  talking  mere  nonsense  from  the  begin- 
ning, and  never  meant  anything  at  all. 

3.  It  is  just  possible,  however,  also,  that  the  story- 
teller may  all  along  have  meant  nothing  but  what  he  said ; 
and  that,  incredible  as  the  events  may  appear,  he  himself 
literally  believed  — and  expected  you  also  to  believe  — 
all  this  about  Hercules,  without  an}^  latent  moral  or  his- 
tory whatever.  And  it  is  very  necessary,  in  reading  tradi- 
tions of  this  kind,  to  determine,  first  of  all,  whether  you  are 
listening  to  a simple  person,  who  is  relating  what,  at  all 
events,  he  believes  to  be  true  (and  may,  therefore,  possibly 
have  been  so  to  some  extent),  or  to  a reserved  philosopher, 
who  is  veiling  a theory  of  the  universe  under  the  grotesque 
of  a fairy  tale.  It  is,  in  general,  more  likely  that  the  first 
sii]:)position  should  be  the  right  one:  simple  and  credulous 
persons  are,  perhaps  fortunately,  more  common  than  phi- 
losophers ; and  it  is  of  the  highest  importance  that  you 
should  take  their  innocent  testimony  as  it  was  meant,  and 
not  efface,  under  the  graceful  explanation  which  your 
cultivated  ingenuity  may  suggest,  either  the  evidence 
their  story  may  contain  (such  as  it  is  worth)  of  an  ex- 
traordinary event  having  really  taken  })lace,  or  the  unques- 
tionable light  which  it  will  cast  upon  the  character  of  the 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


120 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


person  by  whom  it  was  frankly  believed.  And. to  deal 
with  Greek  religion  honestly,  you  must  at  once  understand 
that  this  literal  belief  was,  in  the  mind  of  the  general 
people,  as  deeply  rooted  as  ours  in  the  legends  of  our  own 
5 sacred  book ; and  that  a basis  of  unmiraculous  event  was 
as  little  suspected,  and  an  explanatory  symbolism  as 
rarely  traced,  by  them,  as  by  us. 

You  must,  therefore,  observe  that  I deeply  degrade  the 
position  which  such  a myth  as  that  just  referred  to  oc- 
lo  cupied  in  the  Greek  mind,  by  comparing  it  (for  fear  of 
offending  you)  to  our  story  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon.® 
Still,  the  analogy  is  perfect  in  minor  respects ; and  though 
it  fails  to  give  you  any  notion  of  the  vitally  religious 
earnestness  of  the  Greek  faith,  it  will  exactly  illustrate 
15  the  manner  in  which  faith  laid  hold  of  its  objects. 

4.  This  story  of  Hercules  and  the  Hydra,®  then,  was  to 
the  general  Greek  mind,  in  its  best  days,  a tale  about  a 
real  hero  and  a real  monster.  Not  one  in  a thousand 
knew  anything  of  the  way  in  which  the  story  had  arisen, 
20  any  more  than  the  English  peasant  generally  is  aware  of 
the  plebeian  original®  of  St.  George;  or  supposes  that 
there  were  once  alive  in  the  world,  with  sharp  teeth  and 
claws,  real,  and  very  ugly,  flying  dragons.  On  the  other 
hand,  few  persons  traced  any  moral  or  symbolical  meaning 
25  in  the  story,  and  the  average  Greek  was  as  far  from  imagin- 
ing any  interpretation  like  that  I have  just  given  you,  as  an 
average  Englishman  is  from  seeing  in  St.  George  the  Red 
Cross  Knight  of  Spenser,®  or  in  the  Dragon  the  Spirit  of 
Infidelity.  But,  for  all  that,  there  was  a certain  under- 
30  current  of  consciousness  in  all  minds  that  the  figures  meant 
more  than  they  at  first  showed ; and,  according  to  each 
man^s  own  faculties  of  sentiment,  lie  judged  and  read  them  ; 
just  as  a Knight  of  the  Garter®  reads  more  in  the  je\vel  on 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


121 


his  collar  than  the  George  and  Dragon  of  a public-house® 
expresses  to  the  host  or  to  his  customers.  Thus,  to  the 
mean  person®  the  myth  always  meant  little ; to  the  noble 
person,  much;  and  the  greater  their  familiarity  with  it, 
the  more  contemptible  it  became  to  one,  and  the  more  s 
sacred  to  the  other ; until  vulgar  commentators  ex- 
plained it  entirely  away,  while  Virgil  made  it  the  crown- 
ing glory  of  his  choral  hymn  to  Hercules.® 

Around  thee,  powerless  to  infect  thy  soul. 

Rose,  in  his  crested  crowd,  the  Lerna  worm.''  lo 

Non  te  rationis  egentem 
Lernseus  turba  capitum  circumstetit  anguis.^^ 

And  although,  in  any  special  toil  of  the  heroes  life,  the 
moral  interpretation  was  rarely  with  definiteness  attached 
to  its  event,  yet  in  the  whole  course  of  the  life,  not  only  a 15 
symbolical  meaning,  but  the  warrant  for  the  existence  of  a 
real  spiritual  power,  was  apprehended  of  all  men.  Hercu- 
les was  no  dead  hero,  to  be  remembered  only  as  a victor 
over  monsters  of  the  past  — harmless  now,  as  slain.  He 
was  the  perpetual  type  and  mirror  of  heroism,  and  its  2c 
present  and  living  aid  against  every  ravenous  form  of 
human  trial  and  pain. 

5.  But,  if  we  seek  to  know  more  than  this,  and  to 
ascertain  the  manner  in  which  the  story  first  crystallized 
into  its  shape,  we  shall  find  ourselves  led  back  generally  25 
to  one  or  other  of  two  sources  — either  to  actual  historical 
events,  represented  by  the  fancy  under  figures  personify- 
ing them ; or  else  to  natural  phenomena  similarly  endowed 
with  life  by  the  imaginative  power,  usually  more  or  less 
under  the  influence  of  terror.  The  historical  myths  we  3c 
must  leave  the  masters  of  history  to  follow;  they,  and  the 


122 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


events  they  record,  being  yet  involved  in  great,  though 
attractive  and  penetrable,  myster}^  But  the  stars, 
and  hills,  and  storms  are  with  us  now,  as  they  were  with 
others  of  old ; and  it  only  needs  that  we  look  at  them  with 
5 the  earnestness  of  those  childish  eyes  to  understand  the 
first  words  spoken  of  them  by  the  children  of  men.  And 
then,  in  all  the  most  beautiful  and  enduring  myths,  we 
shall  find,  not  only  a literal  story  of  a real  person,  not  only 
a parallel  imagery  of  moral  principle,  but  an  underlying 
lo  v'orship  of  natural  phenomena,  out  of  which  both  have 
sprung,  and  in  which  both  forever  remain  rooted.  Thus, 
from  the  real  sun,  rising  and  setting,  — from  the  real  at- 
mosphere, calm  in  its  dominion  of  unfading  blue,  and 
fierce  in  its  descent  of  tempest,  — the  Greek  forms  first 
15  the  idea  of  two  entirely  personal  and  corporeal  gods, 
whose  limbs  are  clothed  in  divine  flesh,  and  whose  brows 
are  crowned  with  divine  beauty ; yet  so  real  that  the  quiver 
rattles  at  their  shoulder,  and  the  chariot  bends  beneath 
their  weight.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  collaterally  with 
20  these  corporeal  images,  and  never  for  one  instant  separated 
from  them,  he  conceives  also  two  omnipresent  spiritual 
influences,  of  which  one  illuminates,  as  the  sun,  with  a 
constant  fire,  whatever  in  humanity  is  skilful  and  wise; 
and  the  other,  like  the  living  air,  breathes  the  calm  of 
25  heavenly  fortitude,  and  strength  of  righteous  anger,  into 
every  human  breast  that  is  pure  and  brave. 

6.  Now,  therefore,  in  nearly  ever\'  myth  of  importance, 
and  certainly  in  ever\^  one  of  those  of  which  I shall  speak 
to-night,  you  have  to  discern  these  three  structural  parts, 
30  — the  root  and  the  two  branches:  the  root,  in  physica 
existence,  sun,  or  sky,  or  cloud,  or  sea  : then  the  personal 
incarnation  of  that,  becoming  a trusted  and  companionable 
deity,  with  whom  you  may  walk  hand  in  hand,  as  a child 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


123 


with  its  brother  or  its  sister;  and,  lastly,  the  moral  signifi- 
cance of  the  image,  which  is  in  all  the  great  myths  eternally 
and  beneficently  true. 

7.  The  great  myths ; that  is  to  say,  myths  made  by 
great  people.  For  the  first  plain  fact  about  myth-making  5 
h one  which  has  been  most  strangely  lost  sight  of,  — that 
you  cannot  make  a myth  unless  you  have  something  to 
make  it  of.  You  cannot  tell  a secret  which  you  donT° 
know.  If  the  myth  is  about  the  sky,  it  must  have  been 
made  by  somebody  who  had  looked  at  the  sky.  If  the  ic 
myth  is  about  justice  and  fortitude,  it  must  have  been 
made  by  some  one  w^ho  knew  what  it  was  to  be  just  or 
patient.  According  to  the  quantity  of  understanding  in 
the  person  will  be  the  quantity  of  significance  in  his  fable ; 
and  the  myth  of  a simple  and  ignorant  race  must  neces-  15 
sarily  mean  little,  because  a simple  and  ignorant  race  have 
little  to  mean.  So  the  great  question  in  reading  a story 

is  always,  not  what  wild  hunter  dreamed,  or  what  childish 
race  first  dreaded  it;  but  what  wise  man  first  perfectly 
told,  and  what  strong  people  first  perfectly  lived  by  it.  20 
And  the  real  meaning  of  any  myth  is  that  which  it  has  at 
the  noblest  age  of  the  nation  among  whom  it  is  current. 
The  farther  back  you  pierce,  the  less  significance  you  will 
find,  until  you  come  to  the  first  narrow  thought,  which, 
indeed,  contains  the  germ  of  the  accomplished  tradition ; 25 
but  only  as  the  seed  contains  the  flower.  As  the  intelli- 
gence and  passion  of  the  race  develop,  they  cling  to  and 
nourish  their  beloved  and  sacred  legend®;  leaf  by  leaf  it 
expands  under  the  touch  of  more  pure  affections,  and  more 
delicate  imagination,  until  at  last  the  perfect  fable  bur- 30 
geons  out®  into  symmetry  of  milky  stem  and  honied 
bell.® 

8.  But  through  whatever  changes  it  may  pass,  remem- 


124 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


ber  that  our  right  reading  of  it  is  wholly  dependent  on 
the  materials  we  have  in  our  own  minds  for  an  intelligent 
answering  sympathy.  If  it  first  arose  among  a people 
who  dwelt  under  stainless  skies,  and  measured  their  jour- 
5 neys  by  ascending  and  declining  stars,  we  certainly  cannot 
read  their  story,  if  we  have  never  seen  anything  above  us 
in  the  day  but  smoke,  nor  anything  around  us  in  the 
night  but  candles.  If  the  tale  goes  on  to  change  clouds  or 
planets  into  living  creatures,  — to  invest  them  with  fair 
lo  forms  and  inflame  them  with  mighty  passions,  — we  can 
only  understand  the  story  of  the  human-hearted  things, 
in  so  far  as  we  ourselves  take  pleasure  in  the  perfectness  of 
visible  form,  or  can  sympathize,  by  an  effort  of  imagina- 
tion, with  the  strange  people  who  had  other  loves  than 
15  that  of  wealth,  and  other  interests  than  those  of  com- 
merce. And,  lastly,  if  the  myth  complete  itself  to  the 
fulfilled  thoughts  of  the  nation,  by  attributing  to  the  gods, 
whom  they  have  carved  out  of  their  fantasy,®  continual 
presence  with  their  own  souls ; and  their  every  effort  for 
20  good  is  finally  guided  by  the  sense  of  the  companionship, 
the  praise,  and  the  pure  will  of  immortals,  we  shall  be  able 
to  follow  them  into  this  last  circle  of  their  faith  only  in  the 
degree  in  which  the  better  parts  of  our  own  beings  have 
been  also  stirred  by  the  aspects  of  nature,  or  strengthened 
25  by  her  laws.  It  may  be  easy  to  prove  that  the  ascent  of 
Apollo  in  his  chariot  signifies  nothing  but  the  rising  of  the 
sun.  But  what  does  the  sunrise  itself  signify  to  us?  If 
only  languid  return  to  frivolous  amusement,  or  fruitless 
labor,  it  will,  indeed,  not  be  easy  for  us  to  conceive  the 
30  power,  over  a Greek,  of  the  name  of  Apollo.  But  if,  for 
us  also,  as  for  the  Greek,  the  sunrise  means  daily  restora- 
tion to  the  sense  of  passionate  gladness  and  of  perfect  life 
— if  it  means  the  thrilling  of  new  strength  through  every 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


125 


nerve,  — the  shedding  over  us  of  a better  peace  than  the 
peace  of  night,  in  the  power  of  the  dawn,  — and  the  . 
purging  of  evil  vision  and  fear  by  the  baptism  of  its  dew ; — 
if  the  sun  itself  is  an  influence,  to  us  also,  of  spiritual  good 
- — and  becomes  thus  in  reality,  not  in  imagination,  to  us  5 
also,  a spiritual  power,  — we  may  then  soon  over-pass  the 
narrow  limit  of  conception  which  kept  that  power  imper- 
sonal, and  rise  with  the  Greek  to  the  thought  of  an  angel 
who  rejoiced  as  a strong  man  to  run  his  course,  whose 
voice  calling  to  life  and  to  labor  rang  round  the  earth,  and  10 
whose  going  forth  was  to  the  ends  of  heaven.® 

9*  The  time,  then,  at  which  I shall  take  up  for  you,  as 
well  as  I can  decipher  it,  the  traditions  of  the  gods  of 
Greece,  shall  be  near  the  beginning  of  its  central  and 
formed  faith,  — about  500  b.c.,  — a faith  of  which  the  15 
character  is  perfectly  represented  by  Pindar®  and  ^Eschylus,  ° 
who  are  both  of  them  outspokenly  religious,  and  entirely 
sincere  men ; while  we  may  always  look  back  to  find  the 
less  developed  thought  of  the  preceding  epoch  given  by 
Homer,  in  a more  occult,  subtle,  half-instinctive,  and  in-  20 
voluntary  way. 

10.  Now,  at  that  culminating  period  of  the  Greek  reli- 
gion, we  find,  under  one  governing  Lord  of  all  things,  four 
subordinate  elemental  forces,  and  four  spiritual  powers 
living  in  them  and  commanding  them.  The  elements  are  25 
of  course  the  well-known  four  of  the  ancient  world,  — the 
earth,  the  waters,  the  fire,  and  the  air®;  and  the  living 
powers  of  them  are  Demeter,  the  Latin  Ceres® ; Poseidon, 
the  Latin  Neptune®;  Apollo,  who  has  retained  always 
his  Greek  name ; and  Athena,  the  Latin  Minerva.  Each  30 
of  these  are  descended  from,  or  changed  from,  more  an- 
cient, and  therefore  more  mystic,  deities  of  the  earth  and 
heaven,  and  of  a finer  element  of  sether  supposed  to  be 


12C 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


beyond  the  heavens ; ^ but  at  this  time  we  find  the  four  quite 
definite,  both  in  their  kingdoms  and  in  their  personalities. 
They  are  the  rulers  of  the  earth  that  we  tread  upon,  and 
the  air  that  we  breathe;  and  are  with  us  as  closely,  in 
5 their  vivid  humanity,  as  the  dust  that  they  animate,  and 
the  winds  that  they  bridle.  I shall  briefly  define  for  you 
the  range  of  their  separate  dominions,  and  then  follow,  as 
far  as  we  have  time,  the  most  interesting  of  the  legends 
which  relate  to  the  queen  of  the  air. 
lo  11.  The  rule  of  the  first  spirit.  Demeter  the  earth 
mother,  is  over  the  earth,  first,  as  the  origin  of  all  life  — 
the  dust  from  whence  we  were  taken;  secondly,  as  the 
receiver  of  all  things  back  at  last  into  silence — “Dust 
thou  art,  and  unto  dust  shalt  thou  return. And,  there- 
15  fore,  as  the  most  tender  image  of  this  appearing  and  fad- 
ing life,  in  the  birth  and  fall  of  flowers,  her  daughter  Pros- 
erpine plays  in  the  fields  of  Sicily,  and  thence  is  torn  away 
into  darkness,  and  becomes  the  Queen  of  Fate®  — not 
merely  of  death,  but  of  the  gloom  which  closes  over  and 
20  ends,  not  beauty  only,  but  sin,  and  chiefly  of  sins  the  sin 
against  the  life  she  gave;  so  that  she  is,  in  her  highest 
power,  Persephone,  the  avenger  and  purifier  of  blood  — 
“The  voice  of  thy  brother's  blood  cries  to  me  out  of  the 
ground.’’^  Then,  side  by  side  with  this  queen  of  tho  earth, 
25  we  find  a demigod  of  agriculture  by  the  plough  — the  lord 
of  grain,®  or  of  the  thing  ground  by  the  mill.  And  it  is  a 
singular  proof  of  the  simplicity  of  Greek  character  at  this 
noble  time,  that  of  all  representations  left  to  us  of  their 
deities  by  their  art,  few  are  so  frequent,  and  none  perhaps 
30  so  beautiful,  as  the  symbol  of  this  spirit  of  agriculture. 

12.  Then  the  dominant  spirit  of  the  element  water  is 

^ And  hy  modern  science  now  also  assertt'd,  and  with  proba- 
bility ar«;ned,  to  exist. 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


12 


Neptune,®  but  subordinate  to  him  are  myriads  of  other 
water  spirits,  of  whom  Nereus®  is  the  chief,  with  Palsemon,® 
and  Leucothea,®  the  white  lady  of  the  sea ; and  Thetis,® 
and  nymphs  innumerable  who,  like  her,  could  suffer  a 
sea  change,^^®  while  the  river  deities  had  each  indepen- 5 
dent  power,  according  to  the  preciousness  of  their  streams 
to  the  cities  fed  by  them,  — the  fountain  Arethuse,  and 
thou,  honored  flood,  smooth  sliding  Hindus,  crowned  with 
vocal  reeds/^®  And,  spiritually,  this  king  of  the  waters 
is  lord  of  the  strength  and  daily  flow  of  human  life  — he  ic 
gives  it  material  force  and  victory ; which  is  the  meaning 
of  the  dedication  of  the  hair,  as  the  sign  of  the  strength  of 
life,®  to  the  river  or  the  native  land. 

13.  Demeter,  then,  over  the  earth,  and  its  giving  and 

receiving  of  life.  Neptune  over  the  waters,  and  the  flow  15 
and  force  of  life,  — always  among  the  Greeks  typified  by 
the  horse,  which  was  to  them  as  a crested  sea-wave,  ani- 
mated and  bridled.®  Then  the  third  element,  fire,  has  set 
over  it  two  powers:  over  earthly  fire,  the  assistant  of 
human  labor,  is  set  Hephaestus,®  lord  of  all  labor  in  which  20 
is  the  flush  and  the  sweat  of  the  brow ; and  over  heavenly 
fire,  the  source  of  day,  is  set  Apollo,  the  spirit  of  all  kin- 
dling, purifying,  and  illuminating  intellectual  wisdom,  each 
of  these  gods  having  also  their  subordinate  or  associated 
powers,  — servant,  or  sister,  or  companion  muse.  25 

14.  Then,  lastly,  we  come  to  the  myth  which  is  to  be  our 
subject  of  closer  inquiry,  — the  story  of  Athena  and  of  the 
deities  subordinate  to  her.  This  great  goddess,  the  Neith 
of  the  Egyptians,  the  Athena  or  Athenaia  of  the  Greeks, 
and,  with  broken  power,  half  usurped  by  Mars,®  the  Mi- 30 
nerva  of  the  Latins,  is,  physically,  the  queen  of  the’  air; 
having  supreme  power  both  over  its  blessing  of  calm,  and 
wrath  of  storm;  and,  spiritually,  she  is  the  queen  of  the 


128 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


breath  of  man,®  first  of  the  bodily  breathing  which  is  life 
to  his  blood,  and  strength  to  his  arm  in  battle ; and  then 
of  the  mental  breathing,  or  inspiration,  which  is  his  moral 
health  and  habitual  wisdom;  wisdom  of  conduct  and  of 
5 the  heart,  as  opposed  to  the  wisdom  of  imagination  and 
the  brain;  moral,  as  distinct  from  intellectual;  inspired, 
as  distinct  from  illuminated. 

15.  By  a singular  and  fortunate,  though  I beheve  wholly 
accidental,  coincidence,  the  heart-virtue,  of  which  she  is 
lo  the  spirit,  was  separated  by  the  ancients  into  four  divi- 
sions, which  have  since  obtained  acceptance  from  r!l  men 
as  rightly  discerned,  and  have  received,  as  if  from  the 
quarters  of  the  four  winds  of  which  Athena  is  the  natu- 
ral queen,  the  name  of  “ Cardinal''  virtues:  namely,  Pru- 
15  dence  (the  right  seeing,  and  foreseeing,  of  events  through 
darkness)  ; Justice  (the  righteous  bestowal  of  favor  and  of 
indignation) ; Fortitude  (patience  under  trial  by  pain) ; 
and  Temperance  (patience  imder  trial  by  pleasure). 
With  respect  to  these  four  virtues,  the  attributes  of 
20  Athena  are  all  distinct.  In  her  prudence,  or  sight  in 
darkness,  she  is  Glaukopis,"  owl-eyed."  ^ In  her  justice, 
which  is  the  dominant  virtue,  she  wears  two  robes,  one  of 
light  and  one  of  darkness ; the  robe  of  light,  saffron  color, 
or  the  color  of  the  daybreak,  falls  to  her  feet,  covering  her 
25  wholly  with  favor  and  love,  — the  calm  of  the  sky  in  bless- 
ing ; it  is  embroidered  along  its*  edge  with  her  victory  over 
the  giants  (the  troublous  powers  of  the  earth),  and  the 
likeness  of  it  was  woven  yearly  by  the  Athenian  maidens 
and  carried  to  the  temple  of  their  own  Athena,  not  to  the 
30  Parthenon,  that  was  the  temple  of  all  the  world's  Athena, 
— but  this  they  carried  to  the  temple  of  their  own  only 

' There  are  many  other  meanings  in  the  epithet ; see,  farther  on. 
§ 91,  pp.  229-231.' 


ATHENA  IN  THE  lIEAVENS 


129 


one  who  loved  them,  and  stayed  with  them  always.  Then 
her  robe  of  indignation  is  worn  on  her  breast  and  left  arm 
only,  fringed  with  fatal  serpents,  and  fastened  with 
Gorgonian  cold,®  turning  men  to  stone ; physically,  the 
lightning  and  the  hail  of  chastisement  by  storm.  Then  5 
in  her  fortitude  she  wears  the  crested  and  unstooping 
helmet ; ^ and  lastly,  in  her  temperance,  she  is  the  queen  of 
maidenhood  — stainless  as  the  air  of  heaven.® 

16.  But  all  these  virtues  mass  themselves  in  the  Greek 
mind  into  the  two  main  ones,  — of  Justice,  or  noble  pas-  ic 
sion,  and  Fortitude,  or  noble  patience;  and  of  these,  the 
chief  powers  of  Athena,  the  Greeks  had  divinely  written 
for  them,  and  for  all  men  after  them,  two  mighty  songs, 

— one,  of  the  Menis,^  Mens,  passion,  or  zeal,  of  Athena, 
breathed  into  a mortal  whose  name  is  “Ache  of  heart,  and  15 
whose  short  life  is  only  the  incarnate  brooding  and  burst  of 
storm ; and  the  other  is  of  the  foresight  and  fortitude  of 
Athena,  maintained  by  her  in  the  heart  of  a mortal  whose 
name  is  given  to  him  from  a longer  grief,  Odysseus,®  the 
full  of  sorrow,  the  much  enduring,  and  the  long-suffering.  20 

17.  The  minor  expressions  by  the  Greeks  in  word,  in 
symbol,  and  in  religious  service,  of  this  faith,  are  so  many 
and  so  beautiful,  that  I hope  some  day  to  gather  at  least  a 
few  of  them  into  a separate  body  of  evidence  respecting 
the  power  of  Athena,  and  its  relations  to  the  ethical  con-  25 
ception  of  the  Homeric  poems,®  or,  rather,  to  their  ethical 
nature;  for  they  are  not  conceived  didactically,  but  are 

^ I am  compelled,  for  clearness’  sake,  to  mark  only  one  meaning 
at  a time.  Athena’s  helmet  is  sometimes  a mask,  sometimes  a 
sign  of  anger,  sometimes  of  the  highest  light  of  aether;  but  I can- 
not speak  of  all  this  at  once. 

2 This  first  word  of  the  Iliad,  Menis,  afterwards  passes  into  the 
Latin  Mens ; is  the  root  of  the  Latin  name  for  Athena,  “Minerva,” 
and  so  of  the  English  “mind.” 

K 


130 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


didactic  in  their  essence,  as  all  good  art  is.°  There  is  an 
increasing  insensibility  to  this  character,  and  even  an  open 
denial  of  it,  among  us  now  which  is  one  of  the  most  curious 
errors  of  modernism,  — the  pecuhar  and  judicial  blindness 
5 of  an  age  which,  having  long  practised  art  and  poetry  for 
the  sake  of  pleasure  only,  has  become  incapable  of  reading 
their  language  when  the}"  were  both  didactic;  and  also, 
having  been  itself  accustomed  to  a professedly  didactic 
teaching,  which  yet,  for  private  interests,  studiously 
lo  avoids  collision  with  every  prevalent  vice  of  its  day  (and 
especially  with  avarice),  has  become  equally  dead  to  the 
intensely  ethical  conceptions  of  a race  which  habitually 
divided  aU  men  into  two  broad  classes  of  worthy  or  worth- 
less, — good,  and  good  for  nothing.  And  even  the  cele- 
15  brated  passage  of  Horace  about  the  Iliad  is  now  misread 
or  disbelieved,  as  if  it  was  impossible  that  the  Iliad  could 
be  instructive  because  it  is  not  like  a sermon.  Horace  does 
not  say  that  it  is  like  a sermon,  and  would  have  been  still 
less  likely  to  say  so  if  he  ever  had  had  the  advantage  of 
20  hearing  a sermon.  “I  have  been  reading  that  story  of 
Troy  again''  (thus  he  writes  to  a noble  youth  of  Rome 
whom  he  cared  for),  quietly  at  Prseneste,  while  you  have 
been  busy  at  Rome ; and  truly  I think  that  what  is  base 
and  what  is  noble,  and  what  useful  and  useless,  may  be 
25  better  learned  from  that,  than  from  all  Ch^ysippus ' ° and 
Grantor's®  talk  put  together."  ^ Which  is  profoundly  true, 
not  of  the  Iliad  only,  but  of  all  other  great  art  whatsoever ; 
for  all  pieces  of  such  art  are  didactic  in  the  purest  way, 
indirectly  and  occultly,  so  that,  first,  you  shall  only  be 
30  bettered  by  them  if  }mu  are  already  hard  at  work  in  better- 

^ Note,  once  for  all,  that  unless  when  there  is  question  about 
some  particular  expression,  I never  translate  literally,  but  give 
ehe  real  force  of  what  is  said,  as  I best  can,  freely. 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


131 


ing  yourself ; and  when  you  are  bettered  by  them,  it  shall 
be  partly  with  a general  acceptance  of  their  influence,  so 
constant  and  subtle  that  you  shall  be  no  more  conscious  of 
it  than  of  the  healthy  digestion  of  food ; and  partly  by  a 
gift  of  unexpected  truth,  which  you  shall  only  find  by  slow  5 
mining  for  it,  — which  is  withheld  on  pur])ose,  and  close- 
locked,  that  you  may  not  get  it  till  you  have  forged  the 
key  of  it  in  a furnace  of  your  own  heating.  And  this  with- 
holding of  their  meaning  is  continual,  and  confessed,  in 
the  great  poets.  Thus  Pindar  says  of  himself : '‘There  is  ic 
many  an  arrow  in  my  quiver,  full  of  speech  to  the  wise,  but, 
for  the  many,  they  need  interpreters.^^  And  neither  Pin- 
dar, nor  ^schylus,  nor  Hesiod,  ° nor  Homer,  nor  any  of 
the  greater  poets  or  teachers  of  any  nation  or  time,  ever 
spoke  but  with  intentional  reservation;  nay,  beyond  this, 
there  is  often  a meaning  which  they  themselves  cannot 
interpret,  — which  it  may  be  for  ages  long  after  them  to 
interpret,  — in  what  they  said,  so  far  as  it  recorded  true 
imaginative  vision.  For  all  the  greatest  myths  have  been 
seen  by  the  men  who  tell  them,  involuntarity  and  passively,  20 
— seen  by  them  with  as  great  distinctness  (and  in  some 
respects,  though  not  in  all,  under  conditions  as  far  beyond 
the  control  of  their  will)  as  a dream  sent  to  any  of  us  by 
night  when  we  dream  clearest ; and  it  is  this  veracity  of 
vision  that  could  not  be  refused,  and  of  moral  that  could  25 
not  be  foreseen,  which  in  modern  historical  inquiry  has 
been  left  wholly  out  of  account ; being  indeed  the  thing 
which  no  merely  historical  investigator  can  understand, 
or  even  believe  ; for  it  belongs  exclusively  to  the  creative  or 
artistic  group  of  men,  and  can  only  be  interpreted  by  those  3c 
of  their  race,  who  themselves  in  some  measure  also  see 
visions  and  dream  dreams. ° 

So  that  you  may  obtain  a more  truthful  idea  of  the 


132 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


nature  of  Greek  religion  and  legend  from  the  poems  of 
Keats,®  and  the  nearly  as  beautiful,  and,  in  general  grasp 
of  subject,  far  more  powerful,  recent  work  of  Morris,® 
than  from  frigid  scholarship,  however  extensive.  Not 
5 that  the  poet^s  impressions  or  renderings  of  things  are 
wholly  true,  but  their  truth  is  vital,  not  formal.  They  are 
like  sketches  from  the  life  by  Reynolds®  or  Gainsborough,® 
which  may  be  demonstrably  inaccurate  or  imaginary  in 
many  traits,  and  indistinct  in  others,  yet  will  be  in  the 
lo  deepest  sense  like,  and  true ; while  the  work  of  historical 
analysis  is  too  often  weak  with  loss,  through  the  very 
labor  of  its  miniature  touches,  or  useless  in  clumsy  and 
vapid  veracity  of  externals,  and  complacent  security  of 
having  done  all  that  is  required  for  the  portrait,  when  it 
15  has  measured  the  breadth  of  the  forehead  and  the  length 
of  the  nose. 

18.  The  first  of  requirements,  then,  for  the  right  reading 
of  myths,  is  the  understanding  of  the  nature  of  all  true 
vision  by  noble  persons ; namely,  that  it  is  founded  on  con- 
20  stant  laws  common  to  all  human  nature ; that  it  perceives, 
however  darkly,  things  which  are  for  all  ages  true ; that  we 
can  only  understand  it  so  far  as  we  have  some  perception 
of  the  same  truth;  and  that  its  fulness  is  developed  and 
manifested  more  and  more  by  the  reverberation  of  it  from 
25  minds  of  the  same  mirror-temper,  in  succeeding  ages.  You 
will  understand  Homer  better  by  seeing  his  reflection  in 
Dante,  as  you  may  trace  new  forms  and  softer  colors  in  a 
hill-side,  redoubled  by  a lake. 

I shall  be  able  partly  to  show  you,  even  to-night,  how 
30  much,  in  the  Homeric  vision  of  Athena,  has  been  made 
clearer  by  the  advance  of  time,  being  thus  essentially  and 
eternally  true;  but  I must  in  the  outset  indicate  the  re- 
lation to  that  central  thought  of  the  imagery  of  the  in- 
ferior deities  of  storm. 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


133 


• 19.  And  first  I will  take  the  myth  of  iEolus'^  (the  ^‘sage 
Hippotades  of  Milton),®  as  it  is  delivered  pure  by  Homer 
from  the  early  times. 

Wh}"  do  you  suppose  Milton  calls  him  ^^sage^'?  One 
does  not  usually  think  of  the  winds  as  very  thoughtful  or  5 
deliberate  powers.  But  hear  Homer®:  ^^Then  we  came 
to  the  ^-Eolian  island,  and  there  dwelt  ^olus  Hippotades, 
dear  to  the  deathless  gods;  there  he  dwelt  in  a floating 
island,  and  round  it  was  a wall  of  brass  that  could  not  be 
broken ; and  the  smooth  rock  of  it  ran  up  sheer.  To  ic 
whom  twelve  children  were  born  in  the  sacred  chambers,  — 
six  daughters  and  six  strong  sons ; and  they  dwell  forever 
with  their  beloved  father  and  their  mother,  strict  in  duty ; 
and  with  them  are  laid  up  a thousand  benefits ; and  the 
misty  house  around  them  rings  with  fluting  all  the  day  15 
long.^^  Now,  you  are  to  note  first,  in  this  description,  the 
wall  of  brass  and  the  sheer  rock.  You  will  find,  through- 
out the  fables  of  the  tempest-group,  that  the  brazen  wall 
and  precipice  (occurring  in  another  myth  as  the  brazen 
. tower  of  Danae)  ® are  always  connected  with  the  idea  of  the  20 
towering  cloud  lighted  by  the  sun,  here  truly  described  as 
a floating  island.  Secondly,  you  hear  that  all  treasures 
were  laid  up  in  them ; therefore,  you  know  this  ^Hollis  is 
lord  of  the  beneficent  winds  (^^he  bringeth  the  wind  out  of 
his  treasuries  i ^.nd  presently  afterwards  Homer  calls  25 
him  the  ^bsteward^^  of  the  winds,  the  master  of  the  store- 
house of  them.  And  this  idea  of  gifts  and  preciousness  in 
the  winds  of  heaven  is  carried  out  in  the  well-knowm  sequel 
of  the  fable : ^Eolus  gives  them  to  Ulysses,  all  but  one, 
bound  in  leathern  bags,®  with  a glittering  cord  of  silver;  30 
and  so  like  bags  of  treasure  that  the  sailors  think  they 
are  so,  and  open  them  to  see.  And  when  Ulysses  is  thus 
driven  back  to  ^Eolus,  and  prays  him  again  to  help  him, 


134 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


note  the  deliberate  words  of  the  king’s  refusal,  — ^‘Did-1 
not,”  he  says,  ‘^send  thee  on  thy  way  heartily,  that  thou 
mightest  reach  thy  country,  thy  home,  and  whatever  is 
dear  to  thee  ? It  is  not  lawful  for  me  again  to  send  forth 
5 favorably  on  his  journey  a man  hated  by  the  happy  gods.” 
This  idea  of  the  beneficence  of  ^olus  remains  to  the  latest 
times,  though  Virgil,  by  adopting  the  vulgar  change  of  the 
cloud  island  into  Lipari,°  has  lost  it  a little ; but  even  when 
it  is  finally  explained  away  by  Diodorus,®  ^Eolus  is  still  a 
lo  kind-hearted  monarch,  who  lived  on  the  coast  of  Sorrento,® 
invented  the  use  of  sails,  and  established  a system  of  storm 
signals. 

20.  Another  beneficent  storm-power,  Boreas,®  occupies 
an  important  place  in  early  legend,  and  a singularly  princi- 
15  pal  one  in  art ; and  I wish  I could  read  to  you  a passage  of 
Plato  about  the  legend  of  Boreas  and  Oreithyia,®  ^ and  the 
breeze  and  shade  of  the  Ilissus®  — notwithstanding  its 
severe  reflection  upon  persons  who  waste  their  time  on 
mythological  studies;  but  I must  go  on  at  once  to  the 
20  fable  with  which  you  are  all  generally  familiar,  that  of  the 
Harpies.® 

This  is  always  connected  with  that  of  Boreas  or  the  north 
wind,  because  the  two  sons  of  Boreas  are  enemies  of  the 
Harpies,  and  drive  them  away  into  frantic  flight.  The 
25  myth  in  its  first  literal  form  means  only  the  battle  between 
the  fair  north  wind  and  the  foul  south  one : the  two  Har- 
pies, Stormswift  ” and  “Swiftfoot,”  are  the  sisters  of  the 
rainbow;  that  is  to  say,  they  are  the  broken  drifts  of 
the  showery  south  wind,  and  the  clear  north  wind  drives 
30  them  back  ; but  they  quickly  take  a deeper  and  more  ma- 

^ Translated  by  Max  Muller®  in  the  opening  of  his  essay  on 
'* ( 'oinparative  Mythology.” — -Chips  from  a German  Workshop 
vol.  ii. 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


i3r> 


lignant  significance.  You  know  the  shorty,  violent,  spiral 
gusts  that  lift  the  dust  before  coming  rain : the  Harpies 
get  identified  first  with  these,  and  then  with  more  violent 
whirlwinds,  and  so  they  are  called  “Harpies,’^  ^Hhe  Snatch- 
ers,^^ and  are  thought  of  as  entirely  destructive ; their  man-  5 
ner  of  destroying  being  twofold,  — by  snatching  away, 
and  b}^  defiling  and  polluting.  This  is  a month®  in  which 
you  may  really  see  a small  Harpy  at  her  work  almost  when- 
ever you  choose.  The  first  time  that  there  is  threatening 
of  rain  after  two  or  three  days  of  fine  weather,  leave  your  ic 
window  well  open  to  the  street,  and  some  books  or  papers 
on  the  table ; and  if  you  do  not,  in  a little  while,  know  what . 
the  Harpies  mean,  and  how  they  snatch,  and  how  they 
defile,  I’W  give  up  my  Greek  myths.® 

21.  That  is  the  physical  meaning.  It  is  now  easy  to  15 
find  the  mental  one.  You  must  all  have  felt  the  expression 
of  ignoble  anger  in  those  fitful  gusts  of  sudden  storm. 
There  is  a sense  of  provocation  and  apparent  bitterness  of 
purpose  in  their  thin  and  senseless  fury,  wholly  different 
from  the  nobler  anger  of  the  greater  tempests.  Also,  they  20 
seem  useless  and  unnatural,  and  the  Greek  thinks  of 
them  always  as  vile  in  malice,  and  opposed,  therefore,  to 
the  Sons  of  Boreas,  who  are  kindly,  wfinds,  that  fill  sails, 
and  wave  harvests,  — full  of  bracing  health  and  happy  im- 
])ulses.  From  this  lower  and  merely  malicious  temper,  the  25 
Harpies  rise  into  a greater  terror,  always  associated  with 
their  whirling  motion,  which  is  indeed  indicative  of  the 
most  destructive  winds ; and  they  are  thus  related  to  the 
nobler  tempests,  as  Charybdis®  to  the  sea ; they  are  de- 
vouring and  desolating,  merciless,  making  all  things  dis-30 
appear  that  come  in  their  grasp  ; and  so,  spiritually,  they 
are  the  gusts  of  vexatious,  fretful,  lawless  passion,  vain 
and  overshadowing,  discxmtented  and  lamenting,  meagre 


136 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


and  insane,  — spirits  of  wasted  energy,  and  wandering  dis- 
ease, and  unappeased  famine,  and  unsatisfied  hope.  So  you 
have,  on  the  one  side,  the  winds  of  prosperity  and  health, 
on  the  other,  of  ruin  and  sickness.  Understand  that,  once, 
5 deeply,  — any  who  have  ever  known  the  weariness  of  vain 
desires,  the  pitiful,  unconquerable,  coiling  and  recoiling 
and  self-involved  returns  of  some  sickening  famine  and 
thirst  of  heart,  — and  you  will  know  what  was  in  the 
sound  of  the  Harpy  Celseno^s®  shriek  from  her  rock;  and 
lowhy,  in  the  seventh  circle  of  the  Inferno, the  Harpies 
make  their  nests  in  the  warped  branches  of  the  trees  that 
are  the  souls  of  suicides. 

22.  Now  you  must  always  be  prepared  to  read  Greek 
legends  as  you  trace  threads  through  figures  on  a silken 
1 5 damask : the  same  thread  runs  through  the  web,  but  it 
makes  part  of  different  figures.  Joined  with  other  colors 
you  hardly  recognize  it,  and  in  different  lights  it  is  dark  or 
light.  Thus  the  Greek  fables  blend  and  cross  curiously  in 
different  directions,  till  they  knit  themselves  into  an  ara- 
20  besque°  where  sometimes  you  cannot  tell  black  from  purple, 
nor  blue  from  emerald  — they  being  all  the  truer  for  this, 
because  the  truths  of  emotion  they  represent  are  inter- 
woven in  the  same  way,  but  all  the  more  difficult  to  read, 
and  to  explain  in  any  order.  Thus  the  Harpies,  as  they 
25  represent  vain  desire,  are  connected  with  the  Sirens,® 
who  are  the  spirits  of  constant  desire ; so  that  it  is  difficult 
sometimes  in  early  art  to  know  which  are  meant,  both 
being  represented  alike  as  birds  with  women ^s  heads ; only 
the  Sirens  are  the  great  constant  desires  — the  infinite 
o sicknesses  of  heart  — which,  rightly  placed,  give  life,  and 
wrongly  placed,  waste  it  away;  so  that  there  are  two 
groups  of  Sirens,  one  noble  and  saving,  as  the  other  is 
fatal.  But  there  are  no  animating  or  saving  Harpies; 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


137 


their  nature  is  always  vexing  and  full  of  weariness,  and 
thus  they  are  curiously  connected  with  the  whole  group  of 
legends  about  Tantalus.® 

23.  We  all  know  what  it  is  to  be  tantalized;  but  we 
do  not  often  think  of  asking  what  Tantalus  was  tanta- 
lized for  — what  he  had  done,  to  be  forever  kept  hungry 
in  sight  of  food.®  Well;  he  had  not  been  condemned  to 
this  merely  for  being  a glutton.  By  Dante  the  same  pun- 
ishment is  assigned  to  simple  gluttony,  to  purge  it  away ; 
but  the  sins  of  Tantalus  were  of  a much  wider  and  more 
mysterious  kind.  There  are  four  great  sins  attributed  to 
him : one,  stealing  the  food  of  the  gods  to  give  it  to  men ; 
another,  sacrificing  his  son  to  feed  the  gods  themselves 
(it  may  remind  you  for  a moment  of  what  I was  telling 
you  of  the  earthly  character  of  Demeter,  that,  while  the 
other  gods  all  refuse,  she,  dreaming  about  her  lost  daughter, 
eats  part  of  the  shoulder  of  Pelops®  before  she  knows  what 
she  is  doing) ; another  sin  is,  telling  the  secrets  of  the  gods ; 
and  only  the  fourth  — stealing  the  .golden  dog  of  Panda- 
reos®  — is  connected  with  gluttony.  The  special  sonse  of 
this  myth  is  marked  by  Pandareos  receiving  the  happy 
privilege  of  never  being  troubled  with  indigestion;  the 
dog,  in  general,  however,  mythically  represents  all  utterly 
senseless  and  carnal  desires ; mainly  that  of  gluttony ; and 
in  the  mythic  sense  of  Hades  — that  is  to  say,  so  far  as  it 
represents  spiritual  ruin  in  this  life,  and  not  a literal  hell  — 
the  dog  Cerberus®  as  its  gate-keeper  — with  this  special 
marking  of  his  character  of  sensual  passion,  that  he  fawns  on 
all  those  who  descend,  but  rages  against  all  who  would  re- 
turn (the  Yirgilian  “ facilis  descensus  ’’®  being  a later  recog- 
nition of  this  mythic  character  of  Hades) ; the  last  labor  of 
Hercules  is  the  dragging  him  up  to  the  light ; and  in  some 
sort  he  represents  the  voracity  or  devouring  of  Hades 


5 

10 

15 

25 

30 


138 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


itself  ; and  the  mediaeval  representation  of  the  month  of 
hell  perpetuates  the  same  thought.  Then,  also,  the  power 
of  evil  passion  is  partly  associated  with  the  red  and  scorch- 
ing light  of  Sirius,  as  opposed  to  the  pure  light  of  the  sun : 
she  is  the  dog-star  of  ruin° ; and  hence  the  cortinual 
Homeric  dwelling  upon  him,  and  comparison  of  the  flame 
of  anger  to  his  swarthy  light ; only,  in  his  scorching,  it  i3 
thirst,  not  hunger,  over  which  he  rules  physically ; so  that 
the  fable  of  Icarius,®  his  first  master,  corresponds,  among 
lo  the  Greeks,  to  the  legend  of  the  drunkenness  of  Noah.° 
The  story  of  Actaeon,®  the  raging  death  of  Hecuba,® 
and  the  tradition  of  the  white  dog  which  ate  part  of  Her- 
cules^ first  sacrifice,  and  so  gave  name  to  the  Cynosarges,® 
are  all  various  phases  of  the  same  thought,  — the  Greek 
15  notion  of  the  dog  being  throughout  confused  between  its 
serviceable  fidelity,  its  watchfulness,  its  foul  voracity, 
shamelessness,  and  deadly  madness,®  while  with  the  curi- 
ous reversal  or  recoil  of  the  meaning  which  attaches  itself 
to  nearly  every  great . myth,  — and  which  we  shall  pres- 
20  ently  see  notably  exemplified  in  the  relations  of  the  ser- 
pent to  Athena,  — the  dog  becomes  in  philosophy  a type 
of  severity  and  abstinence. 

24.  It  would  carry  us  too  far  aside  were  I to  tell  you  the 
story  of  Pandareos'  dog®  — or  rather  of  Jupiter’s  dog,  for 
25  Pandareos  was  its  guardian  only ; all  that  bears  on  our 
present  purpose  is  that  the  guardian  of  this  golden  dog 
had  three  daughters,  one  of  whom  was  subject  to  the  power 
of  the  Sirens,  and  is  turned  into  the  nightingale ; and  the 
other  two  were  subject  to  the  power  of  the  Harpies,  and 
30  this  was  what  happened  to  them  : They  were  very  beauti- 
ful, and  they  were  beloved  by  the  gods  in  their  youth,  and 
liW  the  great  goddesses  were  anxious  to  bring  them  up 
rightly.  Of  all  types  of  young  ladies’  education,  there  is 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


139 


nothing  so  splendid  as  that  of  the  younger  daughters  of 
Pandareos.  They  have  literally  the  four  greatest  god- 
desses for  their  governesses.  Athena  teaches  them  do- 
mestic accomplishments,  how  to  weave,  and  sew,  and  the 
like;  Artemis®  teaches  them  to  hold  themselves  ups 
straight;  Hera,®  how  to  behave  proudly  and  oppressively 
to  company;  and  Aphrodite,®  delightful  governess,  feeds 
them  with  cakes  and  honey  all  day  long.  All  goes  well, 
until  just  the  time  when  they  are  going  to  be  brought  out  ; 
then  there  is  a great  dispute  whom  they  are  to  marry,  and  ic 
in  the  midst  of  it  they  are  carried  off  by  the  Harpies,  given 
by  them  to  be  slaves  to  the  Furies,®  and  never  seen  more. 
But  of  course  there  is  nothing  in  Greek  myths ; and  one 
never  heard  of  such  things  as  vain  desires,  and  empty 
hopes,  and  clouded  passions,  defiling  and  snatching  away  15 
the  souls  of  maidens,  in  a London  season.® 

I.have  no  time  to  trace  for  you  any  more  harpy  legends, 
though  they  are  full  of  the  most  curious  interest ; but  I 
may  confirm  for  you  my  interpretation  of  this  one,  and 
prove  its  importance  in  the  Greek  mind,  by  noting  that  20 
Polygnotus®  painted  these  maidens,  in  his  great  religious 
series  of  paintings  at  Delphi,®  crowned  with  flowers,  and 
playing  at  dice® ; and  that  Penelope®  remembers  them  in 
her  last  fit  of  despair,  just  before  the  return  of  Ulysses, 
and  prays  bitterly  that  she  may  be  snatched  away  at  once  25 
into  nothingness  by  the  Harpies,  like  Pandareos^  daugh- 
ters, rather  than  be  tormented  longer  by  her  deferred  hope, 
and  anguish  of  disappointed  love. 

25.  I have  hitherto  spoken  only  of  deities  of  the  winds. 
We  pass  now  to  a far  more  important  group,  the  deities  of  30 
cloud.  Both  of  these  are  subordinate  to  the  ruling  power 
of  the  air,  as  the  demigods  of  the  fountains  and  minor 
seas  are  to  the  great  deep  ; but,  as  the  cloud-firmament 


140 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


detaches  itself  more  from  the  air,  and  has  a wider  range  of 
ministry  than  the  minor  streams  and  seas,  the  highest 
cloud  deity,  Hermes,®  has  a rank  more  equal  with  Athena 
than  Nereus  or  Proteus®  with  Neptune;  and  there  is 
5 greater  difficulty  in  tracing  his  character,  because'  his 
physical  dominion  over  the  clouds  can,  of  course,  be  as- 
serted only  where  clouds  are ; and,  therefore,  scarcely  at 
all  in  Egypt ; ^ so  that  the  changes  which  Hermes  under- 
goes in  becoming  a Greek  from  an  Egyptian  and  Phoenician 
lo  god,  are  greater  than  in  any  oth^"  case  of  adopted  tradi- 
tion*  In  Egypt  Hermes  is  a deit^s  of  hi:^4orical  record,  and 
a conductor  of  the  dead  to  judgment ; the  Greeks  take 
away  much  of  this  historical  function,  assigning  it  to  the 
Muses ; but,  in  investing  1pm  vAth  the  physical  power  over 
15  clouds,  they  give  him  that  vffiich  the  Muses  disdain,  — 
the  power  of  concealment  and  of  thefr.  The  snatching 
away  by  the  Harpies  is  with  brute  force ; but  the  snatch- 
ing away  by  the  clouds  is  connected  with  the  thought  of 
hiding,  and  of  making  things  seem  to  be  what  they  are  not ; 
20  so  that  Hermes  is  the  god  of  lyiag,  as  ne  is  of  mist ; and  yet 
\/hh  this  ignoble  function  of  making  things  vanish  and 
disappear  is  connected  the  remnant  of  his  grand  Egyptian 
authority  of  leading  away  souls  in  the  cloud  of  death  (the 
actual  dimness  of  sight  caused  by  mortal  wounds  physi- 
25  cally  suggesting  the  darkness  and  descent  of  clouds,  and 
continually  being  so  described  in  the  Iliad) ; while  the 

^ I believe  uat  the  conclusions  of  recent  scholarship  are  gener- 
ally opposed  to  the  Herodotean  ideas  of  any  direct  acceptance  by 
the  Greeks  of  Egyptian  myths;  and  very  certainly,  Greek  art  is 
30  developed  by  sn vliig  the  veracity  and  simplicity  of  real  life  to 
Eastern  savage  grotesque and  not  by  softening  the  severity  of 
pure  Egyptian  design.  But  it  is  of  no  consequence  whether  one 
conception  was,  or  was  not,  in  this  case,  derived  from  the  other; 
my  object  is  only  to  mark  the  essential  differences  between  them. 


A THEN  A IN  THE  HEAVENS 


141 


sense  of  the  need  of  guidance  cn  the  untrodden  road  follows 
necessarily.  You  cannot  but  remember  how  this  thought 
of  cloud  guidance,  nnd  aoud  receiving  of  souls  at  death, 
has  been  elsev:here  ratiisd. 

26.  Without  fodowing  that  higher  clue,  I will  pass  to  5 
the  lovely  group  0:^  mytiis  connected  with  the  birth  of 
Hermes  on  the  G’oek  mountains.  You  knew  that  the 
valley  of  Sparta  is  one  of  the  noblest  mountain  ravines  in 
the  world,  and  that  the  western  flank  of  it  is  formed  by  an 
unbroken  chain  of  crags,  forty  miles  long,  rising,  opposite  10 
Sparta,  to  a height  of  8,000  feet^  and  known  as  the  chain  of 
Taygetus.  Now,  the  nymph  from  whom  that  mountain 
ridge  is  named  was  the  mother  of  Lacedaemon,  therefore 
the  mythic  ancestress  of  the  Spartan  race.  She  is  the 
nymph  Taygeta,®  and  one  of  the  seven  stars  of  spring;  15 
one  of  those  Pleiades^  of  whom  is  the  question  to  Job,  — 
^^Canst  thou  bind  the  sweet  influences  of  Pleiades,  or  loose 
the  bands  of  Orion  ^ ‘‘  The  sweet  influences  of  Pleiades,” 
of  the  stars  of  spring,  — nowhere  sweeter  than  among  the  • 
pine-clad  slopes  of  the  hills  of  Sparta  and  Arcadia,®  when  20 
the  snows  of  their  higher  summits,  beneath  the  sunshine 
of  April,  feh  into  fountains,  and  rose  into  clouds ; and  in 
every  ravine  was  a newly  awakened  voice  of  waters,®  — 
soft  increase  of  whisper  among  its  sacred  stones;  and  on 
every  crag  its  forming  and  fading  veil  of  radiant  cloud ; 25 
temple  above  temple,  of  the  divine  marble  that  no  tool  can 
pollute,  nor  ruin  undermine.  And,  therefore,  beyond  this 
central  valley,  this  great  Greek  vase  of  Arcadia,  on  the 

hollow^'  mountain,  Cyllene,  or  ^‘pregnant”  mountain, 
called  also  cold,”  because  there  the  vapors  rest,^  and  born  30 

^ On  the  altar  of  Hermes  on  its  summit,  as  on  that  of  the  La- 
cinian  Hera,®  no  wind  everacirred  the  ashes.  By  those  altars,  the 
Gods  of  Heaven  were  appeased,  and  all  their  storms  at  rest. 


142 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


of  the  eldest  of  those  stars  of  spring,  that  Maia,  from  whon? 
your  own  month  of  May  has  its  name,  bringing  to  you,  in 
the  green  of  her  garlands,  and  the  white  of  her  hawthorn, 
the  unrecognized  symbols  of  the  pastures  and  the  wreathed 
5 snows  of  Arcadia,  where  long  ago  she  was  queen  of  stars : 
there,  first  cradled  and  wrapt  in  swaddling-clothes ; then 
raised,  in  a moment  of  surprise,  into  his  wandering  power, 
— is  born  the  shepherd  of  the  clouds,  ° wing-footed  and 
deceiving,  — blinding  the  eyes  of  Argus,  ° — escaping  from 
lo  the  grasp  of  Apollo  — restless  messenger  between  the  high- 
est sky  and  topmost  earth  — “the  herald  Mercury,  new 
lighted  on  a heaven-kissing  hill/^ 

27.°  Now,  it  will  be  wholly  impossible,  at  present,  to 
trace  for  you  any  of  the  minor  Greek  expressions  of  this 
15  thought,  except  only  that  Mercury,  as  the  cloud  shepherd, 
is  especially  called  Eriophoros,  the  wool-bearer.  You 
will  recollect  the  name  from  the  common  woolly  rush  “ eri- 
ophorum  which  has  a cloud  of  silky  seed ; and  note  also 
that  he  wears  distinctively  the  flat  cap,  petasoSy  named 
20  from  a word  meaning  “ to  expand  ” ; which  shaded 
from  the  sun,  and  is  worn  on  journeys.  You  have  the 
epithet  of  mountains  “cloud-capped^^  as  an  established 
form  with  every  poet,  and  the  Mont  Pilate  of  Imcerne  is 
named  from  a Latin  word  signifying  specially  a woollen 
25  cap ; but  Mercury  has,  besides,  a general  Homeric  epithet, 
curiously  and  intensely  concentrated  in  meaning,  “the 
profitable  or  serviceable  by  wool,^  that  is  to  say,  by 
shepherd  wealth;  hence,  “pecuniarily,^’®  rich,  or  service- 
able, and  so  he  passes  at  last  into  a general  mercantile 

30  ^ T am  convinced  that  the  epi  in  ipLo^vLos  is  not  intensitive,  but 

retained  from  epLOp;  but  even  if  I am  wrong  in  thinking  this,  the 
mistake  is  of  no  consecjuence  with  respect  to  the  general  force  of 
the  term  as  meaning  tlie  profitableness  of  Hermes.  Athena’s 
epithet  of  dyeXeLa  has  a parallel  significance. 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


143 


deity ; while  yet  the  cloud  sense  of  the  wool  is  retained  by 
Homer  ^.Iways,  so  that  he  gives  him  this  epithet  when  it 
would  otherwise  have  been  quite  meaningless  (in  Iliad, 
xxiv.  440),  when  he  drives  Priam  chariot,  and  breathes 
force  into  his  horses,  precisely  as  we  shall  find  Athena  drive  s 
Diomed°;  and  yet  the  serviceable  and  profitable  sense  — 
and  something  also  of  gentle  and  soothing  character  in 
the  mere  wool-softness,  as  used  for  dress,  and  religious 
rites  — is  retained  also  in  the  epithet,  and  thus  the  gentle 
and  serviceable  Hermes  is  opposed  to  the  deceitful  one.  lo 

28.  In  connection  with  this  driving  of  Priam^s  chariot, 
remember  that  as  Autolycus®  is  the  son  of  Hermes  the 
Deceiver,  Myrtilus®  (the  Auriga  of  the  Stars)  is  the  son  of 
Hermes  the  Guide.  The  name  Hermes  itself  means  im- 
pulse ; and  he  is  especially  the  shepherd  of  the  flocks  of  15 
the  sky,°  in  driving,  or  guiding,  or  stealing  them ; and  yet 
his  great  name,  Argeiphontes,  not  only  — as  in  different 
passages  of  the  olden  poets  — means  Shining  White,"' 
which  is  said  of  him  as  being  himself  the  silver  cloud 
lighted  by  the  sun ; but  Argus-Killer,""  the  killer  of  bright-  20 
ness,  which  is  said  of  him  as  he  veils  the  sky,  and  especially 
the  stars,  which  are  the  eyes  of  Argus ; or,  literally,  eyes 
of  brightness,  which  Juno,  who  is,  with  Jupiter,®  part  of 
the  type  of  highest  heaven,  keeps  in  her  peacock "s  train. 
We  know  that  this  interpretation  is  right,  from  a passage  25 
in  which  Euripides®  describes  the  shield  of  Hippomedon,® 
which  bore  for  its  sign,  Argus  the  all-seoing,  covered  with 
eyes ; open  towards  the  rising  of  the  star^,  and  closed  tow- 
ards their  setting."" 

And  thus  Hermes  becomes  the  spirit  of  the  movement  30 
of  tl  e sky  or  firmament ; not  merely  the  fast  flying  of 
the  transitory  cloud,  but  the  great  motion  of  the 
heavens  and  stars  themselves.  Thus,  in  his  highest 


lU 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


power,  lie  corresponds  to  the  ^^primo  mobile  of  the  iatei 
Italian  philosophy,  and,  in  his  simplest,  is  tne  gu  de  of  ad 
mysterious  and  cloudy  movement,  and  cf  all  successful 
subtleties.  Perhaps  the  prettiest  minor  recognition  of  his 
5 character  is  when,  on  the  night  foray^  of  Ulysses  and  Dio 
med,  Ulysses  wears  the  helmet  stolen  by  Autol’ycus,  the  son 
of  Hermes, 

29.  The  position  in  the  Greek  mind  of  Hermes  as  the  lord 
of  cloud  is,  however,  more  mystic  and  ideal  than  that  of 
loany  other  deity,  just  on  account  of  the  constant  and  real 
presence  of  the  cloud  i self  under  different  forms,  giving 
rise  to  all  kinds  of  minor  fables.  The  play  of  the  Greek 
imagination  in  this  direction  is  so  wide  and  complex,  that  I 
cannot  even  give  you  an  cuthne  of  its  range  in  my  present 
15  limits.  There  is  first  a great  series  of  storm-legends  con- 
nected with  the  family  of  the  historic  ^olus,  centralized 
by  the  story  of  Athamas,°  with  his  two  wives,  “the  Cloud 
and  the  “White  Goddess, ending  in  that  of  Phrixus®  and 
Helie,°  and  of  the  golden  fleece  (which  is  only  the  cloud- 
jo  burden  of  Hermes  Eriophoros).  With  this,  there  is  the 
fate  of  Salmoneus,°  and  the  destruction  of  Glaucus®  by 
his  own  horses ; all  these  minor  myths  of  storm  concentrat- 
ing themselves  darkly  into  the  legend  of  Bellerophon  and 
the  Chirnsera,®  in  which  there  is  an  under  story  about  the 
25  vain  subduing  of  passion  and  treachery,  and  the  end  of  life 
in  fading  melancholy,  — which,  I hope,  not  many  of  you 
could  understand  even  were  I to  show  it  you  (the  merely 
physical  meaning  of  the  Chimaera  is  the  cloud  of  volcanic 
lightning,  connected  wholly  with  earth-fire,  but  resembling 
30  the  heavenly  cloud  in  its  height  and  its  thunder).  Finally, 
in  the  ^olic  group,  there  is  the  legend  of  Sisyphus,®  which 
I mean  to  work  out  thoroughly  by  itself ; its  root  is  in 
the  position  of  Corinth  as  ruling  the  isthmus  and  the 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


145 


two  seas  — the  Corinthean  Acropolis,  two  thousand  feet 
high,  being  the  centre  of  the  crossing  currents  of  the  winds, 
and  of  the  commerce  of  Greece.  Therefore,  Athena,  and 
the  fountain-cloud  Pegasus,  are  more  closely  connected 
with  Corinth  than  even  with  Athens  in’  their  material,  5 
though  not  in  their  moral,  power ; and  Sisyphus  founds  the 
Isthmian  games°  m connection  with  a melancholy  story 
about  the  sea  gods ; but  he  himself  is  KepStcrrog 
the  most  gaining’^  and  subtle  of  men;  who,  having 
the  key  of  the  Isthmus,  becomes  the  type  of  transit,  ic 
transfer,  or  trade,  as  such ; and  of  the  apparent  gain  from 
it,  which  is  not  gain;  and  this  is  the  real  meaning  of  his 
punishment  in  hell  — eternal  toil  and  recoil  (the  modern 
idol  of  capital  being,  indeed,  the  stone  of  Sisyphus  with  a 
vengeance,  crushing  in  its  recoil).  But,  throughout,  the  15 
old  ideas  of  the  cloud  power  and  cloud  feebleness,  — the 
deceit  of  its  hiding,  — and  the  emptiness  of  its  vanishing, 

— the  Autolycus  enchantment  of  making  black  seem 
white,  — and  the  disappointed  fury  of  Ixion®  (taking 
shadow  for  power),  mingle  in  the  moral  meaning  of  this  20 
and  its  collateral  legends ; and  give  an  aspect,  at  last,  not 
only  of  foolish  cunning,  but  of  impiety  or  literal  ^Tdolatry,^' 
^imagination  worship, to  the  dreams  of  avarice  and  in- 
justice, until  this  notion  of  atheism  and  insolent  blindness 
becomes  principal;  and  the  Clouds of  Aristophanes,® 25 
with  the  personified  ^^just^^  and  ^imjust^^  sayings  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  play,  foreshadow,  almost  feature  by  fea- 
ture, in  all  that  they  were  written  to  mock  and  to  chastise, 
the  worst  elements  of  the  impious  and  tumult 

in  men^s  thoughts,  which  have  followed  on  their  avarice  in  30 
the  present  day,  making  them  alike  forsake  the  laws  of 
their  ancient  gods,  and  misapprehend  or  reject  the  true 
words  of  their  existing  teachers. 

L 


146 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


30.  All  this  we  have  from  the  legends  of  the  historic 
^>olus  only ; but,  besides  these,  there  is  the  beautiful 
story  of  Semele,  the  mother  of  Bacchus.®  She  is  the  cloud 
with  the  strength  of  the  vine  in  its  bosom,  consumed  by  the 

5 light  which  matures  the  fruit ; the  melting  away  of  the 
cloud  into  the  clear  air  at  the  fringe  of  its  edges  being  ex- 
quisitely rendered  by  Pindar^s  epithet  for  her,  Semele, 
^ Avith  the  stretched-out  hair  (ravveOapa) Then  there  is 
the  entire  tradition  of  the  Danaides,®  and  of  the  tower  of 
lo  Danae®  and  golden  shower ; the  birth  of  Perseus®  connect- 
ing this  legend  with  that  of  the  Gorgons®  and  Graise,®  who 
are  the  true  clouds  of  thunderous  and  ruinous  tempest.  I 
must,  in  passing,  mark  for  you  that  the  form  of  the  sword 
or  sickle  of  Perseus,  with  which  he  kills  Medusa,®  is  an- 
15  other  image  of  the  whirling  harpy  vortex,  and  belongs 
especially  to  the  sword  of  destruction  or  annihilation; 
whence  it  is  given  to  the  two  angels  who  gather  for  de- 
struction the  evil  harvest  and  evil  vintage  of  the  earth 
(Rev.  xiv.  15).  I will  collect  afterwards  and  complete 
20  what  I have  already  written  respecting  the  Pegasean  and 
Gorgonian  legends,  noting  here  only  what  is  necessary  to 
explain  the  central  myth  of  Athena  herself,  who  repre- 
sents the  ambient  air,  which  included  all  cloud,  and  rain, 
and  dew,  and  darkness,  and  peace,  and  wrath  of  heaven. 
25  Let  me  now  try  to  give  you,  however  briefly,  some  distinct 
idea  of  the  several  agencies  of  this  great  goddess. 

31. ®  I.  She  is  the  air  giving  life  and  health  to  all 

animals. 

II.  She  is  the  air  giving  vegetative  power  to  the 
30  earth. 

III.  She  is  the  air  giving  motion  to  the  sea,  and 

rendering  navigation  possible. 

IV.  She  is  the  air  nourishing  artificial  light,  torch 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


147 


or  lamplight ; as  opposed  to  that  of  the 
sun,  on  one  hand,  and  of  consuming  ^ fire 
on  the  other. 

V.  She  is  the  air  conveying  vibration  of  sound. 

I will  give  you  instances  of  her  agency  in  all  these  func-  5 
tions. 

32.  First,  and  chiefly,  she  is  air  as  the  spirh  of  life,  giving 
vitality  to  the  blood.  Her  psychic  relation  co  the  vital 
force  in  matter  lies  deeper,  and  we  will  examine  it  after- 
wards ; but  a great  number  of  the  most  interesting  pas-  ic 
sages  in  Homer  regard  her  as  flying  over  the  earth  in  local 
and  transitory  strength,  simply  and  merely  the  goddess 
of  fresh  air. 

It  is  curious  that  the  British  city  which  has  somewhat 
saucily  styled  itself  the  Modern  Athens  is  indeed  more  15 
under  her  especial  tutelage  and  favor  in  this  respect  than 
perhaps  any  other  town  in  the  island.  Athena  is  first 
simply  what  in  the  Modern  Athens  you  so  practicall}^  find 
her,  the  breeze  of  the  mountain  and  the  sea ; and  wherever 
she  comes,  there  is  purification,  and  health,  and  power.  20 
The  sea-beach  round  this  isle  of  ours  is  the  frieze  of  our 
Parthenon;  every  wave  that  breaks  on  it  thunders  with 
Athena ^s  voice ; nay,  whenever  you  throw  your  window 
wide  open  in  the  morning,  you  let  in  Athena,  as  wisdom  and 
fresh  air  at  the  same  instant ; and  whenever  you  draw  a 25 
pure,  long,  full  breath  of  right  heaven,  you  take  Athena 
into  your  heart,  through  your  blood ; and,  with  the  blood, 
into  the  thoughts  of  your  brain. 

Now,  this  giving  of  strength  by  the  air,  observe,  is 
mechanical  as  well  as  chemical.  You  cannot  strike  a good  30 
blow  but  with  your  chest  full ; and,  in  hand  to  hand  fight- 

^ Not  a scientific,  but  a very  practical  and  expressive  distinc- 
tion. 


148 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


ing,  it  is  not  the  muscle  that  fails  first,  it  is  the  breath ; 
the  longest-breathed  will,  on  the  average,  be  the  victor,  — 
not  the  strongest.  Note  how  Shakspeare°  always  leans 
on  this.  Of  Mortimer,®  in  changing  hardiment  with  great 
5 Glendower  : 

Three  times  they  breathed,  and  three  times  did  they  drink, 
Upon  agreement,  of  swift  Severn^s  flood. 

And  again.  Hotspur,®  sending  challenge  to  Prince  Harry: 

That  none  might  draw  short  breath  to-day 
lo  But  I and  Harry  Monmouth.^’ 

Again,  of  Hamlet,®  before  he  receives  his  wound: 

He’s  fat,  and  scant  of  breath.’’ 

Again,  Orlando®  in  the  wrestling: 

Yes;  I beseech  your  grace 
15  I am  not  yet  well  breathed.” 

Now,  of  all  people  that  ever  lived,  the  Greeks  knew  best 
what  breath  meant,  both  in  exercise  and  in  battle,  and 
therefore  the  queen  of  the  air  becomes  to  them  at  once  the 
queen  of  bodily  strength  in  war ; not  mere  brutal  muscular 
20  strength,  — that  belongs  to  Ares,®  — but  the  strength  of 
young  lives  passed  in  pure  air  and  swift  exercise,  — Ca- 
milla’s® virginal  force,  that  ''flies  o’er  the  unbending  corn, 
and  skims  along  the  main.” 

33.  Now  I will  rapidly  give  you  two  or  three  instances  of 
25  her  direct  agency  in  this  function.  First,  when  she  wants 
to  make  Penelope®  bright  and  beautiful ; and  to  do  away 
with  the  signs  of  her  waiting  and  her  grief.  "Then  Athena 
thought  of  another  thing:  she  laid  her  into  deep  sleep,  and 
loosed  all  her  limbs,  and  made  her  taller,  and  made  her 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


149 


smoother,  and  fatter,  and  whiter  than  sawn  ivory;  and 
breathed  ambrosial  brightness  over  her  face ; and  so  she  left 
her  ^nd  went  up  to  heaven/^  Fresh  air  and  sound  sleep  at 
night,  young  ladies® ! You  see  you  may  have  Athena  for 
lady^s  maid  whenever  you  choose.  Next,  hark  how  she  5 
gives  strength  to  Achilles®  when  he  is  broken  with  fasting 
and  grief.  Jupiter  pities  him  and  says  to  her,  ^ Daughter 
mine,  are  you  forsaking  your  own  soldier,  and  don’t  you 
care  for  Achilles  any  more?  See  how  hungry  and  weak 
is,  — go  and  feed  him  with  ambrosia.’®  So  he  urged  10 
the  eager  Athena ; and  she  leaped  down  out  of  heaven  like  a 
harpy  falcon,®  Shrill-voiced;  and  she  poured  nectar  and 
ambrosia,  full  of  delight,  into  the  breast  of  Achilles,  that 
his  limbs  might  not  fail  with  famine ; then  she  returned  to 
the  solid  dome  of  her  strong  father.”  And  then  comes  the  15 
great  passage  about  Achilles  arming  — for  which  we  have 
no  time.  But  here  is  again  Athena  giving  strength  to  the 
whole  Greek  army.  She  came  as  a falcon  to  Achilles, 
straight  at  him,®  a sudden  drift  of  breeze ; but  to  the  army 
she  must  come  widely,  she  sweeps  around  them  all.  As  20 
when  Jupiter  spreads  the  purple  rainbow  over  heaven, 
portending  battle  or  cold  storm,  so  Athena,  wrapping  her- 
self round  with  a purple  cloud,  stooped  to  the  Greek 
soldiers,  and  raised  up  each  of  them.”  Note  that  purple, 
in  Homer’s  use  of  it,  nearly  always  means  fiery,”  ^Hull  of  25 
light.”  It  is  the  light  of  the  rainbow,  not  the  color  of  it, 
which  Homer  means  you  to  think  of. 

34.  But  the  most  curious  passage  of  all,  and  fullest  of 
meaning,  is  when  she  gives  strength  to  Menelaus,®  that  he 
may  stand  unwearied  against  Hector.®  He  prays  to  her : 3° 
And  blue-eyed  Athena  v/as  glad  that  he  prayed  to  her, 
first ; and  she  gave  him  strength  in  his  shoulders,  and  in 
his  limbs,  and  she  gave  him  the  courage  ” — of  what  ani- 


150 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


mal,  do  you  suppose  ? Had  it  been  Neptune  or  Mars,  they 
would  have  given  him  the  courage  of  a bull,  or  a lion ; but 
Athena  gives  him  the  courage  of  the  most  fearless  in  attack 
of  all  creatures,  small  or  great,  and  very  small  it  is,  but 
5 wholly  incapable  of  terror,  — she  gives  him  the  courage  of 
a fly. 

35.  Now,  this  simile  of  Homer’s  is  one  of  the  best  in- 
stances I can  give  you  of  the  way  in  which  great  writers 
seize  truths  unconsciously  which  are  for  all  time.  It  is 
loonly  recent  science  which  has  completely  shown  the  per- 
fectness of  this  minute  s^mibol  of  the  power  of  Athena ; 
proving  that  the  insect’s  flight  and  breath- are  coordinated  ; 
that  its  wings  are  actually  forcing-pumps,  of  which  the 
stroke  compels  the  thoracic  respiration;  and  that  it  thus 
15  breathes  and  flies  simultaneously  by  the  action  of  the  same 
muscles,  so  that  respiration  is  carried  on  most  vigorously 
during  flight,  ^Svhile  the  air-vessels,  supplied  by  many  pairs 
of  lungs  instead  of  one,  traverse  the  organs  of  flight  in 
far  greater  numbers  than  the  capillary  blood-vessels  of  our 
20  own  system,  and  give  enormous  and  untiring  muscular 
power,  a rapidity  of  action  measured  by  thousands  of 
strokes  in  the  minute,  and  an  endurance,  by  miles  and  hours 
of  flight.”^ 

Homer  could  not  have  known  this;  neither  that  the 
25  buzzing  of  the  fly  was  produced,  as  in  a wind  instrument, 
by  a constant  current  of  air  through  the  trachea.  But  he 
had  seen,  and,  doubtless,  meant  us  to  remember,  the  mar- 
vellous strength  and  swiftness  of  the  insect’s  flight  (the 
glance  of  the  swallow  itself  is  clumsy  and  slow  compared 
30  to  the  darting  of  common  house-flies  at  play) ; he  prob- 
ably attributed  its  murmur  to  the  wings,  but  in  this  also 
there  was  a type  of  what  we  shall  presently  find  recog- 
^ Ormerod.  “Natural  History  of  Wasps.” 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


151 


nized  in  the  name  of  Pallas,  — the  vibratory  power  of  the 
air  to  convey  sound,  while,  as  a purifying  creature,  the 
fly  holds  its  place  beside  the  old  symbol  of  Athena  in  Egypt, 
the  vulture ; and  as  a venomous  and  tormenting  creature 
has  more  than  the  strength  of  the  serpent  in  proportion  to  5 
its  size,  being  thus  entirely  representative  of  the  influence 
of  the  air  both  in  purification  and  pestilence  ; and  its  cour- 
age is  so  notable  that,  strangely  enough,  forgetting  Ho- 
mer^s  simile,  I happened  to  take  the  fly  for  an  expression 
of  the  audacity  of  freedom  in  speaking  of  quite  another  10 
subjects  Whether  it  should  be  called  courage,  or  mere 
mechanical  instinct,  may  be  questioned,  but  assuredly  no 
other  animal,  exposed  to  continual  danger,  is  so  absolutely 
without  sign  of  fear. 

36.  You  will,  perhaps,  have  still  patience  to  hear  two 
instances,  not  of  the  communication  as  strength,  but  of 
the  personal  agency  of  Athena  as  the  air.  When  she  comes 
down  to  help  Diomed  against  Ares,  she  does  not  come  to 
fight  instead  of  him,  but  she  takes  his  charioteer ^s  place. 

^^She  snatched  the  reins,  she  lashed  with  all  her  force,  20 
And  full  on  Mars  impelled  the  foaming  horse.” 

Ares  is  the  first  to  cast  his  spear ; then  — note  this  — 
Pope®  says : 

^‘Pallas  opposed  her  hand,  and  caused  to  glance, 

Far  from  the  car,  the  strong  immortal  lance.”  25 

She  does  not  oppose  her  hand  in  the  Greek  — the  wind 
could  not  meet  the  lance  straight  — she  catches  it  in  her 
hand,  and  throws  it  off.  There  is  no  instance  in  which  a 
lance  is  so  parried  by  a mortal  hand  in  all  the  Iliad,  and 
it  is  exactly  the  way  the  wind  would  parry  it,  catching  it,  30 

^ See  farther  on,  § 148. 


162 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


and  turning  it  aside.  If  there  are  any  good  rifleshots  here, 
they  know  something  about  Athena ^s  parrying;  and  in 
old  times  the  English  masters  of  feathered  artillery  knew 
more  yet.  Compare  also  the  turning  of  Hector ^s  lance 
5 from  Achilles : Iliad  xx.  439. 

37.  The  last  instance  I will  give  you  is  as  lovely  as  it  is 
subtle.  Throughout  the  Iliad,  Athena  is  herself  the  will 
or  Menis  of  Achilles.  If  he  is  to  be  calmed,  it  is  she  who 
calms  him;  if  angered,  it  is  she  who  inflames  him.  In 

lothe  first  quarrel  with  Atreides,®  when  he  stands  at  pause, 
with  the  great  sword  half  drawn,  Athena  came  from 
heaven,  and  stood  behind  him  and  caught  him  by  the 
yellow  hair.’^  Another  god  would  have  stayed  his  hand 
upon  the  hilt,  but  Athena  only  lifts  his  hair.  ^^And  he 
15  turned  and  knew  her,  and  her  dreadful  eyes  shone  upon 
him.^^  There  is  an  exquisite  tenderness  in  this  laying  her 
hand  upon  his  hair,  for  it  is  the  talisman  of  his  life,  vowed 
to  his  own  Thessalian  river  if  he  ever  returned  to  its  shore, 
and  cast  upon  Patroclus’®  pile,  so  ordaining  that  there 
20  should  be  no  return. 

38.  Secondly,  Athena  is  the  air  giving  vegetative  im- 
pulse to  the  earth.  She  is  the  wind  and  the  rain,  and  yet 
more  the  pure  air  itself,  getting  at  the  earth  fresh  turned® 
by  spade  or  plough,  and,  above  all,  feeding  the  fresh 

25  leaves;  for  though  the  Greeks  knew  nothing  about  car- 
bonic acid,  they  did  know  that  trees  fed  on  the  air. 

Now,  note  first  in  this,  the  myth  of  the  air  getting  at 
ploughed  ground.  You  know  I told  you  the  Lord  of  all 
labor  by  which  man  lived  was  Hephaestus®;  therefore 
30  Athena  adopts  a child  of  his,  and  of  the  Earth,  — Erich- 
thonius,®  — literally,  ^H/he  tearer  up  of  the  ground,^’  who 
is  the  head  (though  not  in  direct  line)  of  the  kings  of  At- 
tica®; and,  having  adopted  him,  she  gives  him  to  be 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


153 


brought  up  by  the  three  nymphs  of  the  dew.  Of  these, 
Aglauros,®  the  dweller  in  the  fields,  is  the  envy  or  malice 
of  the  earth ; she  answers  nearly  to  the  envy  of  Gain,®  the 
tiller  of  the  ground,  against  his  shepherd  brother,  in 
her  own  envy  against  her  two  sisters;  Herse,°  the  cloud 
dew,  who  is  the  beloved  of  the  shepherd  Mercury®;  and 
Pandrosos,®  the  diffused  dew,  or  dew  of  heaven.  Literally, 
you  have  in  this  myth  the  words  of  the  blessing  of  Esau : 
‘^Thy  dwelling  shall  be  of  the  fatness  of  the  earth,  and  of 
the  dew  of  heaven  from  above. ^^®  Aglauros  is  for  her  envy 
turned  into  a black  stone ; and  hers  is  one  of  the  voices  — 
the  other  being  that  of  Cain  — which  haunts  the  circle  of 
envy  in  the  Purgatory : 

lo  sono  Aglauro,  chi  divenne  sasso.”® 

Dut  to  her  two  sisters,  with  Erichthonius  (or  the  hero 
Erechtheus) , is  built  the  most  sacred  temple  of  Athena  in 
Athens ; the  temple  to  their  own  dearest  Athena  — to 
her,  and  to  the  dew  together ; so  that  it  was  divided  into 
two  parts : one,  the  temple  of  Athena  of  the  city,  and  the 
other  that  of  the  dew.  And  this  expression  of  her  power, 
as  the  air  bringing  the  dew  to  the  hill  pastures,  in  the  cen- 
tral temple  of  the  central  city  of  the  heathen,  dominant 
over  the  future  intellectual  world,  is,  of  all  the  facts  con- 
nected with  her  worship  as  the  spirit  of  life,  perhaps  the 
most  important.  I have  no  time  now  to  trace  for  you  the 
hundredth  part  of  the  different  ways  in  which  it  bears  both 
upon  natural  beauty,  and  on  the  best  order  and  happi- 
ness of  men^s  lives.  I hope  to  follow  out  some  of  these 
trains  of  thought  in  gathering  together  what  I have  to  say 
about  field  herbage ; but  I must  say  briefly  here  that  the 
great  sign,  to  the  Greeks,  of  the  coming  of  spring  in  the 
pastures,  was  not,  as  with  us,  in  the  primrose,®  but  in 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


154 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


the  various  flowers  of  the  asphodel®  tribe  (of  which  I wilV 
give  you  some  separate  accoi^nt  presently) ; therefore  it 
is  that  the  earth  answers  with  crocus  flame®  to  the  cloud 
on  Ida® ; and  the  power  of  Athena  in  eternal  life  is  written 
5 by  the  light  of  the  asphodel  on  the  Elysian  fields.® 

But  further,  Athena  is  the  air,  not  only  to  the  lilies  of 
the  field,  but  to  the  leaves  of  the  forest.  We  saw  before 
the  reason  why  Hermes  is  said  to  be  the  son  of  Maia,®  the 
eldest  of  the  sister  stars  of  spring.  Those  stars  are  called 
lo  not  only  Pleiades,  but  Vergiliae,  from  a word  mingling 
the  ideas  of  the  turning  or  returning  of  springtime  with 
the  outpouring  of  rain.  The  mother  of  Vergil  bearing  the 
name  of  Maia,  Vergil®  himself  received  his  name  from  the 
seven  stars ; and  he,  in  forming  first  the  mind  of  Dante, 
15  and  through  him  that  of  Chaucer®  (besides  whatever 
special  minor  influence  came  from  the  Pastorals  and 
Georgies)®  became  the  fountain-head  of  all  the  be^t  literary 
power  connected  with  the  love  of  vegetative  nature  among 
civilized  races  of  men.  Take  the  fact  for  what  it  is  worth ; 
20  still  it  is  a strange  seal  of  coincidence,  in  word  and  in 
reality,  upon  the  Greek  dream  of  the  power  over  human 
life,  and  its  purest  thoughts,  in  the  stars  of  spring.  But 
the  first  syllable  of  the  name  of  Vergil  has  relation  also  to 
another  group  of  words,  of  which  the  English  ones,  virtue 
25  and  virgin,  bring  down  the  force  to  modern  days.  It  is 
a group  containing  mainly  the  idea  of  spring, or  in- 
crease of  life  in  vegetation  — the  rising  of  the  new  branch 
of  the  tree  out  of  the  bud,  and  of  the  new  leaf  out  of  the 
ground.  It  involves,  secondarily,  the  idea  of  greenness 
30  and  of  strength,  but  primarily,  that  of  living  increase  of  a 
new  rod  from  a stock,  stem,  or  root  (^‘ There  shall  come 
forth  a rod  out  of  the  stem  of  Jesse ^0°;  ^^nd  chiefly  the 
stem  of  certain  plants  — either  of  the  rose  tribe,  as  in  the 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


155 


budding  of  the  almond  rod  of  Aaron® ; or  of  the  olive  tribe, 
which  has  triple  significance  in  this  symbolism,  from  the 
use  of  its  oil  for  sacred  anointing,  for  strength  in  the  gym- 
nasium, and  for  light.  Hence,  in  numberless  divided  and 
reflected  ways,  it  is  connected  with  the  power  of  Hercules  5 
and  Athena : Hercules  plants  the  wild  olive,  for  its  shade, 
on  the  course  of  Olympia,®  and  it  thenceforward  gives  the 
Olympic  crown  of  consummate  honor  and  rest ; while  the 
prize  at  the  Panathenaic  games®  is  a vase  of  its  oil  (mean- 
ing encouragement  to  continuance  of  effort) ; and  from  the  10 
paintings  on  these  Panathenaic  vases  we  get  the  most 
precious  clue  to  the  entire  character  of  Athena.  Then  to 
express  its  propagation  by  slips,  the  trees  from  which  the 
oil  was  to  be  taken  were  called  ^^Moriai,^^®  trees  of  division 
(being  all  descendants  of  the  sacred  one  in  the  Erechtheum) .®  1 5 
And  thus,  in  one  direction,  we  get  to  the  children  like 
olive  plants  round  about  thy  table  ^^®  and  the  olive  grafting 
of  St.  Paul ; while  the  use  of  the  oil  for  anointing  gives  chief 
name  to  the  rod  itself  of  the  stem  of  Jesse,®  and  to  all  those 
who  were  by  that  name  signed  for  his  disciples  first  in  20 
Antioch.®  Remember,  further,  since  that  name  was  first 
given  the  influence  of  the  symbol,  both  in  extreme  unction® 
and  in  consecration  of  priests  and  kings  to  their  ‘^divine 
right and  think,  if  you  can  reach  with  any  grasp  of 
thought,  what  the  influence  on  the  earth  has  been,  of  those  25 
twisted  branches  whose  leaves  give  gray  bloom  to  the  hill- 
sides under  every  breeze  that  blows  from  the  midland  sea. 
But,  above  and  beyond  all,  think  how  strange  it  is  that  the 
chief  Agonia®  of  humanity,  and  the  chief  giving  of  strength 
from  heaven  for  its  fulfilment,  should  have  been  under  its  30 
night  shadow  in  Palestine.® 

39.  Thirdly,  Athena  is  the  air  in  its  power  over  the  sea. 

On  the  earliest  Panathenaic  ^^ase  known  — the  Burgon 


156 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


vase  in  the  British  Museum®  — Athena  has  a dolphin^ 
on  her  shield.  The  dolphin  has  two  principal  meanings 
in  Greek  symbolism.  It  means,  first,  the  sea ; secondarily, 
the  ascending  and  descending  course  of  any  of  the  heavenly 
5 bodies  from  one  sea  horizon  to  another  — the  dolphins^ 
arching  rise  and  replunge  (in  a summer  evening,  out  of  calm 
sea,  their  black  backs  roll  round  with  exactly  the  slow 
motion  of  a water-wheel;  but  I do  not  know  how  far 
Aristotle’s  exaggerated  account  of  their  leaping  or  their 
lo  swiftness  has  any  foundation)  being  taken  as  a type  of 
the  emergence  of  the  sun  or  stars  from  the  sea  in  the  east, 
and  plunging  beneath  in  the  west.  Hence,  Apollo,  when 
in  his  personal  power  he  crosses  the  sea,  leading  his  Cretan® 
colonists  to  Pytho,®  takes  the  form  of  a dolphin,  becomes 
15  Apollo  Delphinius,  and  names  the  founded  colony  Del- 
phi.^’ The  lovety  drawing  of  the  Delphic  Apollo  on  the 
hydria®  of  the  Vatican  (Le  Normand  and  De  Witte,  vol. 
ii.  p.  6)  gives  the  entire  conception  of  this  myth.  Again, 
the  beautiful  coins  of  Tarentum  represent  Taras®  coming 
20  to  found  the  city,  riding  on  a dolphin,  whose  leaps  and 
plunges  have  partly  the  rage  of  the  sea  in  them,  and  partly 
the  spring  of  the  horse,  because  the  splendid  riding  of  the 
Tarentines  had  made  their  name  proverbial  in.  Magna 
Grsecia.®  The  story  of  Arion®  is  a collateral  fragment  of 
25  the  same  thought ; and,  again,  the  plunge,  before  their 
transformation,  of  the  ships  of  ^neas.®  Then,  this  idea 
of  career  upon,  or  conquest  of,  the  sea,  either  by  the  crea- 
tures themselves,  or  by  dolphin-like  ships  (compare  the 
Merlin  prophecy,® 

30  They  shall  ride 

Over  ocean  wide 

With  hempen  bridle,  and  horse  of  tree,’0 
connects  its:^)f  with  the  thought  of  undulation,  and 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


157 


of  the  wave-power  in  the  sea  itself,  which  is  always 
expressed  by  the  serpentine  bodies  either  of  the  sea-gods 
or  of  the  sea-horse ; and  when  Athena  carries,  as  she  does 
often  in  later  work,  a serpent  for  her  shield-sign,  it  is 
not  so  much  the  repetition  of  her  own  segis-snakes  as  the  5 
further  expression  of  her  power  over  the  sea-wave ; which, 
finally,  Vergil  gives  in  its  perfect  unity  with  her  own  anger, 
in  the  approach  of  the  serpents  against  Laocoon®  from  the 
sea ; and  then,  finally,  when  her  own  storm-power  is  fully 
put  forth  on  the  ocean  also,  and  the  madness  of  the  aegis-  ic 
snake  is  given  to  the  wave-snake,  the  sea-wave  becomes 
the  devouring  hound  at  the  waist  of  Scylla,®  and  Athena 
takes  Scylla  for  her  helmet-crest ; while  yet  her  beneficent 
and  essential  power  on  the  ocean,  in  making  navigation 
possible,  is  commemorated  in  the  Panathenaic  festival  by  15 
her  peplus°  being  carried  to  the  Erechtheum  suspended 
from  the  mast  of  a ship. 

In  Plate  cxv.  of  vol.  ii.,  Le  Normand,  are  given  two  sides 
of  a vase,  which,  in  rude  and  childish  way,  assembles  most 
of  the  principal  thoughts  regarding  Athena  in  this  relation.  20 
In  the  first,  the  sunrise  is  represented  by  the  ascending 
chariot  of  Apollo,  foreshortened;  the  light  is  supposed  to 
blind  the  eyes,  and  no  face  of  the  god  is  seen  (Turner,  ° in 
the  Ulysses  and  Polyphemus®  sunrise,  loses  the  form  of 
the  god  in  light,  giving  the  chariot-horses  only ; rendering  25 
in  his  own  manner,  after  2,200  years  of  various  fall  and 
revival  of  the  arts,  precisely  the  same  thought  as  the  old 
Greek  potter).  He  ascends  out  of  the  sea;  but  the  sea 
itself  has  not  yet  caught  the  light.  In  the  second  design, 
Athena  as  the  morning  breeze,  and  Hermes  as  the  morn-  3° 
ing  cloud,  fly  over  the  sea  before  the  sun.  Hermes  turns 
back  his  head;  his  face  is  unseen  in  the  cloud,  as  Apollo’s 
in  the  light;  the  grotesque  appearance  of  an  animal’s 


158 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


face  is  only  the  cloud-phantasm®  modifying  a frequent 
form  of  the  hair  of  Hermes  beneath  the  back  of  his  cap. 
Under  the  morning  breeze,  the  dolphins  leap  from  the  rip- 
pled sea,  and  their  sides  catch  the  light. 

5 The  coins  of  the  Lucanian  H5*acleia  give  a fair  repre- 
sentation of  the  helmed  Athena,  as  imagined  in  later  Greek 
art,  with  the  embossed  Scylla. 

40.  Fourthly,  Athena  is  the  air  nourishing  artificial 
light  — unconsuming  fire.  Therefore,  a lamp  was  always 
lo  kept  burning  in  the  Erechtheum ; and  the  torch-race 
belongs  chiefly  to  her  festival,  of  which  the  meaning  is  to 
show  the  danger  of  the  perishing  of  the  light  even  by  ex- 
cess of  the  air  that  nourishes  it ; and  so  that  the  race  is  not 
to  the  swift,®  but  to  the  wise.  The  household  use  of  her 
15  constant  light  is  symbolized  in  the  lovely  passage  in  the 
Odyssey,  where  Ulysses  and  his  son  move  the  armor  while 
the  servants  are  shut  in  their  chambers,  and  there  is  no  one 
to  hold  torches  for  them;  but  Athena  herself,  ^‘having  a 
golden  lamp,^^  fills  all  the  rooms  with  light.  Her  presence 
20  in  war-strength  with  her  favorite  heroes  is  always  shown 
by  the  unwearied  fire  hovering  on  their  helmets  and 
shields ; and  the  image  gradually  becomes  constant  and  ac- 
cepted, both  for  the  maintenance  of  household  watchful- 
ness, as  in  the  parable  of  the  ten  virgins,®  or  as  the  symbol 
25  of  direct  inspiration,  in  the  rushing  wind  and  divided 
flames  of  Pentecost®;  but  together  with  this  thought  of 
unconsuming  and  constant  fire,  there  is  always  mingled 
in  the  Greek  mind  the  sense  of  the  consuming  by  excess,  as 
of  the  flame  by  the  air,  so  also  of  the  inspired  creature  by 
30  its  own  fire  (thus,  again,  ^Hhe  zeal  of  thine  house  hath 
eaten  me  up  ^^®  — “my  zeal  hath  consumed  me,  because 
of  thine  enemies,^^®  and  the  like)  ; and  especially  Athena 
has  this  aspect  towards  the  truly  sensual  and  bodily 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


159 


strength;  so  that  to  Ares,°  who  is  himself  insane  and  con- 
suming, the  opposite  wisdom  seems  to  be  insane  and 
consuming:  ^^All  we  the  other  gods  have  thee  against  us, 

O Jove  ! when  we  would  give  grace  to  men ; for  thou  hast 
begotten  the  maid  without  a mind  — the  mischievous  5 
creature,  the  doer  of  unseemly  evil.  All  we  obey  thee,  and 
are  ruled  by  thee.  Her  only  thou  wilt  not  resist  in  any- 
thing she  says  or  does,  because  thou  didst  bear  her  — con- 
suming child  as  she  is.^^ 

41.  Lastly,  Athena  is  the  air  conveying  vibration  of  10 
sound. 

In  all  the  loveliest  representations  in  central  Greek  art 
of  the  birth  of  Athena,  Apollo  stands  close  to  the  sitting 
Jupiter,  singing,  with  a deep,  quiet  joyfulness,  to  his  lyre. 
The  sun  is  always  thought  of  as  the  master  of  time  and  15 
rhythm,  and  as  the  origin  of  the  composing  and  inventive 
discovery  of  melody°;  but  the  air,  as  the  actual  element 
and  substance  of  the  voice,  the  prolonging  and  sustaining 
power  of  it,  and  the  symbol  of  its  moral  pa.ssion.  Whatever 
in  music  is  measured  and  designed  belongs  therefore  to  20 
Apollo  and  the  Muses ; whatever  is  impulsive  and  passion- 
ate,® to  Athena;  hence  her  constant  strength  of  voice  or 
cry  (as  when  she  aids  the  shout  of  Achilles)®  curiously 
opposed  to  the  dumbness  of  Demeter.®  The  Apolline  lyre, 
therefore,  is  not  so  much  the  instrument  producing  sound,  25 
as  its  measurer  and  divider  by  length  or  tension  of  string 
into  given  notes ; and  I believe  it  is,  in  a double  connec- 
tion with  its  office  as  a measurer  of  time  or  motion,  and  its 
relation  to  the  transit  of  the  sun  in  the  sky,  that  Hermes 
forms  it  from  the  tortoise-shell,  which-'is  the  image  of  the  3c 
dappled  concave  of  the  cloudy  sky.  Thenceforward  all 
the  limiting  or  restraining  modes  of  music  belong  to  the 
Muses ; but  the  passionate  music  is  wind  music,  as  in  the 


160 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


Doric  flute.®  Then,  when  this  inspired  music  beromes  de- 
graded in  its  passion,  it  sinks  into  the  pipe  of  Pan,®  and  the 
double  pipe  of  Marsyas,®  and  is  then  rejected  by  Athena. 
The  myth  which  represents  her  doing  so  is  that  she  in- 
5 vented  the  double  pipe  from  hearing  the  hiss  of  the  Gor- 
gonian  serpents® ; but  when  she  played  upon  it,  chancing 
to  see  her  face  reflected  in  water,  she  saw  that  it  was  dis- 
torted, whereupon  she  threw  down  the  flute,  which  I\rar- 
syas  found.  Then,  the  strife  of  Apollo  and  Marsyas  repre- 
To  sents  the  enduring  contest  between  music  in  which  the 
words  and  thought  lead,  and  the  lyre  measures  or  melo- 
dizes them  (which  Pindar  means  when  he  calls  his  hymns 
kings  over  .the  lyre^O?  music  in  which  the  words  are 
lost  and  the  wind  or  impulse  leads,  — generally,  there- 
15  fore,  between  intellectual,  and  brutal,  or  meaningless, 
music.  Therefore,  when  Apollo  prevails,  he  flays  Marsyas, 
taking  the  limit  and  external  bond  of  his  shape  from  him, 
which  is  death,  without  touching  the  mere  muscular 
strength,  yet  shameful  and  dreadful  in  dissolution. 

20  42.  And  the  opposition  of  these  two  kinds  of  sound  is 

continually  dwelt  upon  by  the  Greek  philosophers,  the  real 
fact  at  the  root  of  all  their  teaching  being  this,  that  true 
music  is  the  natural  expression  of  a lofty  passion  for  a 
right  cause ; that  in  proportion  to  the  kingliness  and  force 
25  of  any  personality,  the  expression  either  of  its  joy  or  suffer- 
ing becomes  measured,  chastened,  calm,  and  capable  of 
interpretation  only  by  the  majesty  of  ordered,  beautiful, 
and  worded  sound.  Exactly  in  proportion  to  the  degree 
in  which  we  become  narrow  in  the  cause  and  concep- 
3otionof  our  passions-,  incontinent  in  the  utterance  of  them, 
feeble  of  ])erseveram*e  in  them,  sullied  or  shameful  in  the 
indulgence  of  them,  their  expression  by  musical  sound  be- 
comes broken,  mean,  fatuitous,  and  at  last  impossible;  the 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


IGl 


measured  waves  of  tiieair  of  heaven  will  not  lend  themselves 
to  expression  of  ultimate  vice,  it  must  be  forever  sunk  into 
discordance  or  silence.  And  since,  as  before  stated,  every 
work  of  right  art  has  a tendency  to  reproduce  the  ethical 
state  which  first  developed  it,  this,  which  of  all  the  arts  is  5 
most  directly  ethical  in  origin,  is  also  the  most  direct  in 
power  of  discipline ; the  first,  the  simplest,  the  most  effec- 
tive of  all  instruments  of  moral  instruction ; while  in  the 
failure  and  betrayal  of  its  functions,  it  becomes  the  subtlest 
aid  of  moral  degradation.  Music  is  thus,  in  her  health,  ic 
the  teacher  of  perfect  order,  ° and  is  the  voice  of  the  obe- 
dience of  angels,  and  the  companion  of  the  course  of 
the  spheres  of  heaven ; and  in  her  depravity  she  is  also 
the  teacher  of  perfect  disorder  and  disobedience,  and  the 
Gloria  in  Excelsis®  becomes  the  Marseillaise.®  In  the  15 
third  section  of  this  volume,  I reprint  two  chapters  from 
another  essay  of  mine  (^^The  Cestus  of  Aglaia^^,  on  mod- 
esty or  measure,  and  on  liberty,  containing  further  ref- 
erence to  music  in  her  two  powers ; and  I do  this  now, 
because,  among  the  many  monstrous  and  misbegotten  fan-  20 
tasies . which  are  the  spawn  of  modern  license,  perhaps 
the  most  impishly  opposite  to  the  truth  is  the  conception 
of  music  which  has  rendered  possible  the  writing,  by 
educated  persons,  and,  more  strangeh^  yet,  the  toler- 
ant criticism,  of  such  words  as  these : This  so  persuasive  25 

art  is  the  only  one  that  has  no  didactic  efficacy,  that  en- 
genders no  emotions  save  such  as  are  without  issue  on  the 
side  of  moral  truths  that  expresses  nothing  of  God,  notJiing 
of  reason,  nothing  of  human  liberty. I will  not  give  the 
author's  name ; the  passage  is  quoted  in  the  Westminster  3c 
Review"  for  last  January  [I860].® 

43.  I must  also  anticipate  something  of  what  I have  to 
say  respecting  the  relation  of  the  power  of  Athena  to 

M 


162 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIH 


organic  life,  so  far  as  to  note  that  her  name,  Pallas, 
probably  refers  to  the  quivering  or  vibration  of  the  air; 
and  to  its  power,  whether  as  vital  force,  or  communicated 
wave,  over  every  kind  of  matter,  in  giving  it  vibratory 
5 movement ; first,  and  most  intense,  in  the  voice  and 
throat  of  the  bird,  which  is  the  air  incarnate;  and  so 
descending  through  the  various  orders  of  animal  life  to  the 
vibrating  and  semi- voluntary  murmur  of  the  insect ; and, 
lower  still,  to  the  hiss  or  quiver  of  the  tail  of  the  half- 
lo  lunged  snake  and  deaf  adder ; all  these,  nevertheless,  being 
wholly  under  the  rule  of  Athena  as  representing  either 
breath  or  vital  nervous  power;  and,  therefore,  also,  in 
their  simplicity,  the  oaten  pipe  and  pastoral  song,^^ 
which  belong  to  her  dominion  over  the  asphodel  meadows, 
15  and  breathe  on  their  banks  of  violets. 

Finally,  is  it  not  strange  to  think  of  the  influence  of  this 
one  power  of  Pallas  in  vibration  (we  shall  see  a singular 
mechanical  energy  of  it  presently  in  the  serpent ^s  motion), 
in  the  voices  of  war  and  peace  ? How  much  of  the  repose, 
20  how  much  of  the  wrath,  folly,  and  misery  of  men,  has 
literally  depended  on  this  one  power  of  the  air;  on  the 
sound  of  the  trumpet  and  of  the  bell,  on  the  lark^s  song, 
and  the  bee^s  murmur ! 

44.  Such  is  the  general  conception  in  the  Greek  mind 
25  of  the  physical  power  of  Athena.  The  spiritual  power  as- 
sociated with  it  is  of  two  kinds : first,  she  is  the  Spirit  of 
Life  in  material  organism ; not  strength  in  the  blood  only, 
bul  formative  energy  in  the  clay;  and,  secondly,  she  is 
inspired  and  impulsive  wisdom  in  human  conduct  and 
30  human  art,  giving  the  instinct  of  infallible  decision,  and  of 
faultless  invention. 

It  is  quite  beyond  the  scope  of  my  present  purpose  — 
and,  indeed,  will  only  l)c  possible  for  me  at  all  after  mark 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


163 


ing  the  relative  intention  of  the  Apolline  myths  — to 
trace  for  you  the  Greek  conception  of  Athena  as  the  guide 
of  moral  passion.  But  I will  at  least  endeavor,  on  some 
near  occasion,^  to  define  some  of  the  actual  truths  respect- 
ing the  vital  force  in  created  organism,  and  inventive  fancy  s 
in  the  works  of  man,  which  are  more  or  less  expressed  by 
the  Greeks,  under  the  personality  of  Athena.  You  would, 
perhaps,  hardly  bear  with  me  if  I endeavored  further 
to  show  you  — what  is  nevertheless  perfectly  true  — the 
analogy  between  the  spiritual  power  of  Athena  in  her  lo 
gentle  ministry,  yet  irresistible  anger,  with  the  ministry 
of  another  Spirit  whom  we  also,  holding  for  the  universal 
power  of  life,  are  forbidden,  at  our  worst  peril,  to  quench 
or  to  grieve.® 

45.  But,  I think,  to-night,  you  should  not  let  me  close  15 
without  requiring  of  me  an  answer  on  one  vital  point, 
nam-ely,  how  far  these  imaginations  of  gods  — which  are 
vain  to  us  — were  vain  to  those  who  had  no  better  trust  ? 
and  what  real  belief  the  Greek  had  in  these  creations  of  his 
own  spirit,  practical  and  helpful  to  him  in  the  sorrow  of  20 
earth?  I am  able  to  answer  you  explicitly  in  this.  The 
origin  of  his  thoughts  is  often  obscure,  and  we  may  err  in 
endeavoring  to  account  for  their  form  of  realization ; but 
the  effect  of  that  realization  on  his  life  is  not  obscure  at  all. 
The  Greek  creed  was,  of  course,  different  in  its  character,  as  25 
our  own  creed  is,  according  to  the  class  of  persons  who  held 
it.  The  common  people's  was  quite  literal,  simple,  and 
happy ; their  idea  of  Athena  was  as  clear  as  a good  Roman 
Catholic  peasant's  idea  of  the  Madonna.  In  Athens  itself, 
the  centre  of  thought  and  refinement,  Pisistratus®  ob-30 
tained  the  reins  of  government  through  the  ready  belief  of 

^ I have  tried  to  do  this  in  mere  outline  in  the  two  following 
sections  of  this  volume. 


164 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


the  populace  that  a beautiful  woman^  armed  like  x\thena,° 
was  the  goddess  herself.  Even  at  the  close  of  the  last  cen- 
tury some  of  this  simplicity  remained  among  the  in- 
habitants of  the  Greek  islands ; and  when  a pretty  English 
5 lady  first  made  her  way  into  the  grotto  of  Antiparos,^  she 
was  surrounded,  on  her  return,  by  all  the  women  of  the 
neighboring  village,  believing  her  to  be  divine,  and  praying 
her  to  heal  them  of  their  sicknesses. 

46.  Then,  secondly,  the  creed  of  the  upper  classes  was 
lo  more  refined  and  spiritual,  but  quite  as  honest,  and  even 

more  forcible  in  its  effect  on  the  life.  You  might  imagine 
that  the  employment  of  the  artifice  just  referred  to  im- 
plied utter  unbelief  in  the  persons  contriving  it;  but  it 
really  meant  only  that  the  more  worldly  of  them  would 
15  play  with  a popular  faith  for  their  own  purposes,  as  doubly- 
minded  persons  have  often  done  since,  all  the  while  sin- 
cerely holding  the  same  ideas  themselves  in  a more  ab- 
stract form;  while  the  good  and  unworldly  men,  the  true 
Greek  heroes,  lived  by  their  faith  as  firmly  as  St.  Louis,® 
20  or  the  Cid,®  or  the  Chevalier  Bayard.® 

47.  Then,  thirdly,  the  faith  of  the  poets  and  artists  was, 
necessarily,  less  definite,  being  continually  modified  b}^  the 
involuntary  action  of  their  own  fancies ; and  by  the  neces- 
sity of  presenting,  in  clear  verbal  or  material  form,  things 

25  of  which  they  had  no  authoritative  knowledge.  Their 
faith  was,  in  some  respects,  like  Banters  or  Milton’s : 
firm  in  general  conception,  but  not  able  to  vouch  for  every 
detail  in  the  forms  they  gave  it ; but  they  went  condder- 
ably  farther,  even  in  that  minor  sincerity,  than  subsequent 
30  poets ; and  strove  with  all  their  might  to  be  as  near  the 
truth  as  they  could.  Pindar  says,  quite  simply,  ‘G  can- 
not think  so-and-so  of  the  gods.  It  must  have  been  this 
way  — it  cannot  have  b^en  that  way  — that  the  thing 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEAVENS 


165 


was  done/^  And  as  late  among  the  Latins  as  the  days  of 
Horace,  this  sincerity  remains.  Horace®  is  just  as  true 
and  simple  in  his  religion  as  Wordsworth® ; but  all  power 
of  understanding  any  of  the  honest  classic  poets  has  been 
taken  away  from  most  English  gentlemen  by  the  me-  5 
chanical  drill  in  verse-writing®  at  school.  Throughout 
the  whole  of  their  lives  afterwards,  they  never  can  get 
themselves  quit  of  the  notion  that  all  verses  were  written 
as  an  exercise,  and  that  Minerva  was  only  a convenient  word 
for  the  last  of  a hexameter,®  and  Jupiter  for  the  last  but  one.  ic 

48.  It  is  impossible  that  any  notion  can  be  more  fal- 
lacious or  more  misleading  in  its  consequences.  All  great 
song,  from  the  first  day  when  human  lips  contrived  sylla- 
bles, has  been  sincere  song.  With  deliberate  didactic  pur- 
pose the  tragedians  — with  pure  and  native  passion  the  15 
lyrists  — fitted  their  perfect  words  to  their  dearest  faiths. 
“Operosa  parvus  earmina  fingo.^'  ‘H,  little  thing  that  I 
am,  weave  my  laborious  songs  as  earnestly  as  the  bee 
among  the  bells  of  thyme®  on  the  Matin®  mountains.  Yes, 
and  he  dedicates  his  favorite  pine  to  Diana,  and  he  chants  20 
his  autumnal  hymn  to  the  Faun®  that  guards  his  fields, 
and  he  guides  the  noble  youth  and  maids  of  Rome®  in 
their  choir  to  Apollo,  and  he  tells  the  farmer^s  little  girl 
that  the  gods  will  love  her,  though  she  has  only  a handful 
of  salt  and  meal  to  give  them  — just  as  earnestly  as  ever  25 
English  gentleman  taught  Christian  faith  to  English  youth 
in  England's  truest  days. 

49.  Then,  lastly,  the  creed  of  the  philosophers  or  sages 
varied  according  to  the  character  and  knowledge  of  each ; 
their  relative  acquaintance  with  the  secrets  of  natural  30 
science,  their  intellectual  and  sectarian  egotism,  and  their 
mystic  or  monastic  tendencies,  for  there  is  a classic  as  well 
as  a mediaeval  monasticism.  They  end  in  losing  the  life  of 


166 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


Greece  in  play  upon  words;  but  we  owe  to  their  early 
thought  some  of  the  soundest  ethics,  and  the  foundation  of 
the  best  practical  laws,  yet  known  to  mankind. 

cO.  Such  was  the  general  vitality  of  the  heathen  creed 
5 in  its  strength.  Of  its  direct  influence  on  conduct,  it  is, 
as  I said,  impossible  for  me  to  speak  now;  only,  remember 
always,  in  endeavoring  to  form  a judgment  of  it,  that  what 
of  good  or  right  the  heathens  did,  they  did  looking  for  no 
reward.  The  purest  forms  of  our  own  religion  have  al- 
io ways  consisted  in  sacrificing  less  things  to  win  greater, 
time  to  win  eternity,  the  world  to  win  the  skies.  The 
order,  ^^sell  that  thou  hast,^'  is  not  given  without  the 
promise,  ‘^thou  shalt  have  treasure  in  heaven®;^’  and  well 
for  the  modern  Christian  if  he  accepts  the  alternative  as  his 
15  Master  left  it,  and  does  not  practically  read  the  command 
and  promise  thus  : Sell  that  thou  hast  in  the  best  market, 

and  thou  shalt  have  treasure  in  eternity  also.^'  But  the 
poor  Greeks  of  the  great  ages  expected  no  reward  from 
heaven  but  honor,  and  no  reward  from  earth  but  rest ; 
20  though,  when,  on  those  conditions,  they  patiently,  and 
proudly,  fulfilled  their  task  of  the  granted  day,  an  un- 
reasoning instinct  of  an  immortal  benediction  broke  from 
their  lips  in  song : and  thev,  even  the}',  had  sometimes  a 
prophet  to  tell  them  of  a land  where  there  is  sun  alike 
2^  by  day  and  alike  by  night,  where  they  shall  need  no  more 
to  trouble  the  earth  by  strength  of  hands  for  daily  bread : 
but  the  ocean  breezes  blow  around  the  blessed  islands,  and 
golden  flowers  burn  on  their  bright  trees  for  evermore/^ 


II 


ATHENA  KERAMITIS* 

{Athena  m the  Earth) 

STUDY,  SUPPLEMENTARY  TO  THE  PRECEDING  LECTURE,  OF 

THE  SUPPOSED  AND  ACTUAL  RELATIONS  OF  ATHENA  TO 

THE  VITAL  FORCE  IN  MATERIAL  ORGANISM 

51.  It  has  been  easy  to  decipher  approximately  the 
Greek  conception  of  the  physical  power  of  Athena  in  cloud 
and  sky,  because  we  know  ourselves  what  clouds  and  skies 
are,  and  what  the  force  of  the  wind  is  in  forming  them. 
But  it  is  not  at  all  easy  to  trace  the  Greek  thoughts  about  5 
the  power  of  Athena  in  giving  life,  because  we  do  not  our- 
selves know  clearly  what  life  is,  or  in  what  way  the  air  is 
necessary  to  it,  or  what  there  is,  besides  the  air,  shaping 
the  forms  that  it  is  put  into.  And  it  is  comparatively  of 
small  consequence  to  find  out  what  the  Greeks  thought  or  10 
meant,  until  we  have  determined  what  we  ourselves  think, 
or  mean,  when  we  translate  the  Greek  word  for  ^‘breath- 
ing into  the  Latin-English  word  “spirit/^ 

52.  But  it  is  of  great  consecjuence  that  you  should  fix 
in  your  minds  — and  hold,  against  the  baseness  of  mere  15 
materialism  on  the  one  hand,  and  against  the  fallacies  of 
controversial  speculation  on  the  other  — the  certain  and 

^ Athena,  fit  for  being  made  into  pottery.’^  I coin  the  expres- 
sion as  a counterpart  of  77}  irapOevLa,  ‘‘Clay  intact.’' 

167 


168 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


practical  sense  of  this  word  “ spirit  the  sense  in  which 
you  all  know  that  its  reality  exists,  as  the  power  which 
shaped  you  into  your  shape,  and  by  which  you  love  and 
hate  when  you  have  received  that  shape.  You  need  not 
5 fear,  on  the  one  hand,  that  either  the  sculpturing  or  the 
loving  power  can  ever  be  beaten  down  by  the  philosophers 
into  a metal,  or  evolved  by  them  into  a gas,  but  on  the 
other  hand,  take  care  that  you  yourselves,  in  trying  to 
elevate  your  conception  of  it,  do  not  lose  its  truth  in  a 
lo  dream,  or  even  in  a word.  Beware  always  of  contending 
for  words : you  will  find  them  not  easy  to  grasp,  if  }mu 
know  them  in  several  languages.  This  very  word,  which 
is  so  solemn  in  your  mouths,  is  one  of  the  most  doubtful. 
In  Latin  it  means  little  more  than  breathing,  and  may 
IS  mean  merely  accent ; in  French  it  is  not  breath,  but  wit, 
and  our  neighbors  are  therefore  obliged,  even  in  their  most 
solemn  expressions,  to  say  ^Svit^^  when  we  say  ghost. 
In  Greek,  ^^pneuma,^'  the  word  we  translate  ghost, 
means  either  wind  or  breath,  and  the  relative  word 
20^^ psyche has,  perhaps,  a more  subtle  power;  yet  St. 
PauFs°  words  pneumatic  body^^  and  psychic  body^' 
involve  a difference  in  his  mind  which  no  words  will  ex- 
plain. But  in  Greek  and  in  English,  and  in  Saxon  and  in 
Hebrew,  and  in  every  articulate  tongue  of  humanity  the 
25  spirit  of  man^^  truly  means  his  passion  and  virtue,  and 
is  stately  according  to  the  height  of  his  conception,  and 
stable  according  to  the  measure  of  his  endurance. 

53.  Endurance,  or  patience,  that  is  the  central  sign  of 
spirit ; a constancy  against  the  cold  and  agony  of  death ; 
30  and  as,  physically,  it  is  by  the  burning  power  of  the  air 
that  the  heat  of  the  flesh  is  sustained,  so  this  Athena, 
spiritually,  is  the  queen  of  all  glowing  virtue,  the  uncon- 
suming fire  and  inner  lamp  of  life.  And  thus,  as  Heplues- 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


169 


tus  is  lord  of  the  fire  of  the  hand,  and  Apollo  of  the  fire 
of  the  brain,  so  Athena  of  the  fire  of  the  heart ; and  as 
Hercules  wears  for  his  chief  armor  the  skin  of  the  Nemean 
lion,°  his  chief  enemy,  whom  he  slew;  and  Apollo  has  for 
his  highest  name  ^Hhe  Pythian,^Hrom  his  chief  enemy,  the  s 
Python,®  slain;  so  Athena  bears  always  on  her  breast  the 
deadly  face  of  her  chief  enemy  slain,  the  Gorgonian  cold, 
and  venomous  agony,  that  turns  living  men  to  stone. 

54.  And  so  long  as  you  have  that  fire  of  the  heart  within 
you,  and  know  the  reality  of  it,  you  need  be  under  no  alarm  iq 
as  to  the  possibility  of  its  chemical  or  mechanical  analysis. 
The  philosophers  are  very  humorous  in  their  ecstasy  of 
hope  about  it ; but  the  real  interest  of  their  discoveries  in 
this  direction  is  very  small  to  humankind.  It  is  quite  true 
that  the  tympanum  of  the  ear  vibrates  under  sound,  15 
and  that  the  surface  of  the  water  in  a ditch  vibrates  too ; 
but  the  ditch  hears  nothing  for  all  that ; and  my  hearing 
is  still  to  me  as  blessed  a mystery  as  ever,  and  the  interval 
between  the  ditch  and  me  quite  as  great.  If  the  trembling 
sound  in  my  ears  was  once  of  the  marriage-bell  which  be-  20 
gan  my  happiness,  and  is  now  of  the  passing-bell  which 
ends  it,  the  difference  between  those  two  sounds  to  me  can- 
not be  counted  by  the  number  of  concussions.  There 
have  been  some  curious  speculations  lately  as  to  the 
conveyance  of  mental  consciousness  by  brain-waves.”  25 
What  does  it  matter  how  it  is  conveyed  ? The  conscious- 
ness itself  is  not  a wave.  It  may  be  accompanied  here 
or  there  by  any  quantity  of  quivers  and  shakes,  up  or 
down,  of  anything  you  can  find  in  the  universe  that  is 
shakable  — what  is  that  to  me  ? My  friend  is  dead,  and  30 
my  — according  to  modern  views  — vibratory  sorrow  is 
not  one  whit  less,  or  less  mysterious,  to  me,  than  my  old 
quiet  one. 


170 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


55.  Beyond,  and  entirely  unaffected  by,  any  question- 
ings of  this  kind,  there  are,  therefore,  two  plain  facts 
which  we  should  all  know:  first,  that  there  is  a power 
which  gives  their  several  shapes  to  things,  or  capacities 
5 of  shape ; and,  secondly,  a power  which  gives  them  their 
several  feelings,  or  capacities  of  feeling ; and  that  we  can 
increase  or  destroy  both  of  these  at  our  will.  By  care  and 
tenderness,  we  can  extend  the  range  of  lovely  life  in  plants 
and  animals ; by  our  neglect  and  cruelty,  we  can  arrest  it, 
lo  and  bring  pestilence  in  its  stead.  Again,  by  right  disci- 
pline we  can  increase  our  strength  of  noble  will  and  pas- 
sion or  destroy  both.  And  whether  these  two  forces  are 
local  conditions  of  the  elements  in  which  they  appear,  or 
are  part  of  a great  force  in  the  universe,  out  of  which  they 
15  are  taken,  and  to  which  they  must  be  restored,  is  not  of, 
the  slightest  importance  to  us  in  dealing  with  them; 
neither  is  the  manner  of  their  connection  with  light  and 
air.  What  precise  meaning  we  ought  to  attach  to  expres- 
sions such  as  that  of  the  prophecy  to  the  four  winds  that 
20  the  dry  bones  might  be  breathed  upon,  and  might  live,®  or 
why  the  presence  of  the  vital  power  should  be  dependent 
on  the  chemical  action  of  the  air,  and  its  awful  passing 
away  materially  signified  by  the  rendering  up  of  that 
breath  or  ghost,  we  cannot  at  present  know,  and  need  not 
25  at  any  time  dispute.  What  we  assuredly  know  is  that  the 
states  of  life  and  death  are  different,  and  the  first  more 
desirable  than  the  other,  and  by  effort  attainable,  whether 
we  understand  being  born  of  the  spirit  to  signify  having 

the  breath  of  heaven  in  our  flesh,  or  its  power  in  our  hearts. 
30  56.  As  to  its  power  on  the  body,  I will  endeavor  to  tell 

you,  having  been  myself  much  led  into  studies  involving 
necessary  reference  both  to  natural  science  imd  mental 
phenoiiK'iia,  what,  at  least,  remains  lo  us  after  science 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


171 


has  done  its  worst ; what  the  myth  of  Athena,  as  a forma- 
tive and  decisive  power,  a spirit  of  creation  and  volition, 
must  eternally  mean  for  all  of  us. 

57.  It  is  now  (I  believe  I may  use  the  strong  word) 
'^ascertained that  heat  and  motion  are  fixed  in  quan-5 
tity,  and  measurable  in  the  portions  that  we  deal  with. 
We  can  measure  our  portions  of  power,  as  we  can  measure 
portions  of  space ; while  yet,  as  far  as  we  know,  space  may 
be  infinite,  and  force  infinite.  There  may  be  heat  as  much 
greater  than  the  sun^s,  as  the  sun^s  heat  is  greater  than  a 10 
candle ^s ; and  force  as  much  greater  than  the  force  by 
which  the  world  swings,  as  that  is  greater  than  the  force 
by  which  a cobweb  trembles.  Now,  on  heat  and  force,  life 
is  inseparably  dependent ; and  I believe,  also”,  on  a form 
of  substance,  which  the  philosophers  call  "protoplasm.”  15 
I wish  they  would  use  English  instead  of  Greek  words. 
When  I want  to  know  why  a leaf  is  green,  they  tell  me  it  is 
colored  by  "chlorophyll,”  which  at  first  sounds  very  in- 
structive ; but  if  they  would  only  say  plainly  that  a leaf  is 
colored  green  by  a thing  which  is  called  "green  leaf,^^  we  20 
should  see  more  precisely  how  far  we  had  got.  However, 
it  is  a curious  fact  that  life  is  connected  with  a cellular 
structure  called  protoplasm,  or  in  English,  "first  stuck 
together  whence,  conceivably  through  deuteroplasms, 
or  second  stickings,  and  tritoplasms,  or  third  stickings,^  25 

^ Or,  perhaps,  we  may  be  indulged  with  one  consummating 
gleam  of  ‘‘glycasm,’’  visible  ^‘Sweetness,”  — according  to  the 
good  old  monk,  ‘‘Full  moon,’^  or  “All  moonshine.”  I cannot 
get  at  his  original  Greek,  but  am  content  with  M.  Durand’s  clear 
French  (Manuel  d’Iconographie  Chretienne.®  Paris,  1845)130 
“Lorsque  vous  aurez  fait  le  proplasme,  et  esquisse  un  visage,  vous 
ferez  les  chairs  avec  le  glycasme  dont  nous  avons  donne  la  re- 
cette.  Chez  les  vieillards,  vous  indiquerez  les  rirles,  et  chez  les 
jeunes  gens,  les  angles  dez  yeux.  C’est  ainsi  qui  Ton  fait  les 
chairs,  suivant  Panselinos.”®  35 


172 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


we  reach  the  highest  plastic  phase  in  the  human  pottery, 
which  differs  from  common  chinaware,  primarily,  by  a 
measurable  degree  of  heat,  developed  in  breathing,  which 
it  borrows  from  the  rest  of  the  universe  while  it  lives,  and 
5 which  it  as  certainly  returns  to  the  rest  of  the  universe, 
when  it  dies. 

58.  Again,  with  this  heat  certain  assimilative  powers 
are  connected,  which  the  tendency  of  recent  discovery  is  to 
simplify  more  and  more  into  modes  of  one  force ; or  finally 
lo  into  mere  motion,  communicable  in  various  states,  but  not 
destructible.  We  will  assume  that  science  has  done  its 
utmost ; and  that  every  chemical  or  animal  force  is  demon- 
strably resolvable  into  heat  or  motion,  reciprocally  chang- 
ing into  eacli  other.  I would  myself  like  better,  in  order 
15  of  thought,  to  consider  motion  as  a mode  of  heat  than  heat 
as  a mode  of  motion ; still,  granting  that  we  have  got  thus 
far,  we  have  yet  to  ask.  What  is  heat  ? or  what  motion  ? 
What  is  this  ^^primo  mobile,'^  this  transitional  power,  in 
which  all  things  live,  and  move,  and  have  their  being®? 
20  It  is  by  definition  something  different  from  matter,  and 
we  may  call  it  as  we  choose,  first  cause,^^  or  first  light,"' 
or  first  heat";  but  we  can  show  no  scientific  proof  of 
its  not  being  personal,  and  coinciding  with  the  ordinary 
conception  of  a supporting  spirit  in  all  things. 

25  59.  Still,  it  is  not  advisable  to  apply  the  word  ‘^spirit" 

or  ^‘breathing"  to  it,  while  it  is  only  enforcing  chemical 
affinities;  but,  when  the  chemical  affinities  are  brought 
under  the  influence  of  the  air,  and  of  the  sun's  heat,  the 
formative  force  enters  an  entirely  different  phase.  It  does 
30  not  now  merely  crystallize  indefinite  masses,  but  it  gives 
to  limited  portions  of  matter  the  power  of  gathering,  selec- 
tively, other  elements  proper  to  them,  and  binding  these 
elements  into  their  own  peculiar  and  adopted  form. 


ATHElSrA  IN  THE  EARTH 


173 


This  force^  now  properly  called  life,  or  breathing,  or 
spirit,  is  continually  creating  its  own  shell  of  definite  shape 
out  of  the  wreck  round  it ; and  this  is  what  I meant  by 
saying,  in  the  Ethics  of  the  Dust,'’^°  ^^you  may  always 
stand  by  form  against  foreed'  For  the  mere  force  of  5 
junction  is  not  spirit;  but  the  power  that  catches  out  of 
chaos  charcoal,  water,  lime,  or  what  not,  and  fastens  them 
down  into  a given  form,  is  properly  called  spirit  ; and  we 
shall  not  diminish,  but  strengthen  our  conception  of  tliih' 
creative  energy  by  recognizing  its  presence  in  lower  states  vs 
of  matter  than  our  owm ; such  recognition  being  enforced 
upon  us  by  delight  we  instinctively  receive  from,  all  the 
forms  of  matter  which  manifest  it ; and  yet  more,  by  the 
glorifying  of  those  forms,  in  the  parts  of  them  that  are 
most  animated,  with  the  colors  that  are  pleasantest  to  our  15 
senses.  The  most  familiar  instance  of  this  is  the  best, 
and  also  the  most  wonderful : the  blossoming  of  plants. 

60.  The  spirit  in  the  plant  — that  is  to  say,  its  power  of 
gathering  dead  matter  out  of  the  wreck  round  it,  and  shap- 
ing it  into  its  own  chosen  shape  — is  of  course  strongest  20 
at  the  moment  of  its  flowering,  for  it  then  not  only  gathers, 
but  forms,  with  the  greatest  energy. 

And  where  this  life  is  in  it  at  full  powder,  its  form  be- 
comes invested  with  aspects  that  are  chiefly  delightful  to 
our  own  human  passions ; namely,  first,  with  the  loveliest  25 
outlines  of  shape;  and,  secondly,  with  the  most  brilliant 
phases  of  the  primary  colors,  blue,  yellow,  and  red  or 
white,  the  unison  of  all ; and,  to  make  it  all  more  strange, 
this  time  of  peculiar  and  perfect  glory  is  associated  with 
relations  of  the  plants  or  blossoms  to  each  other,  corre- 30 
spondent  to  the  joy  of  love  in  human  creatures,  and  having 
the  same  object  in  the  continuance  of  the  race.  Only, 
with  respect  to  plants,  as  animals,  we  are  wrong  in  speak- 


174 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


ing  as  if  the  object  of  this  strong  life  were  only  the  bequeath- 
ing of  itself.  The  flower  is  the  end  or  proper  object  of 
the  seed,  not  the  seed  of  the  flower.  The  reason  for  seeds 
is  that  flowers  may  be ; not  the  reason  of  flowers  that  seeds 
5 may  be.  The  flower  itself  is  the  creature  which  the  spirit 
makes;  only,  in  connection  with  its  perfectness  is  placed 
the  giving  birth  to  its  successor. 

61.  The  main  fact,  then,  about  a flower  is  that  it  is  the 
part  of  the  plant  ^s  form  developed  at  the  moment  of  its 

lo  intensest  life ; and  this  inner  rapture  is  usually  marked 
externally  for  us  by  the  flush  of  one  or  more  of  the  primary 
colors.  What  the  character  of  the  flower  shall  be,  depends 
entirely  upon  the  portion  of  the  plant  into  which  this  rap- 
ture of  spirit  has  been  put.  Sometimes  the  life  is  put  into 
15  its  outer  sheath,  and  then  the  outer  sheath  becomes  white 
and  pure,  and  full  of  strength  and  grace ; sometimes  the 
life  is  put  into  the  common  leaves,  just  under  the  blossom, 
and  they  become  scarlet  or  purple;  sometimes  the  life  is 
put  into  the  stalks  of  the  flower  and  the}"  flush  blue ; some- 
20  times  into  its  outer  enclosure  or  calyx ; mostly  into  its 
inner  cup ; but,  in  all  cases,  the  presence  of  the  strongest 
life  is  asserted  by  characters  in  which  the  human  sight 
takes  pleasure,  and  which  seem  prepared  with  distinct 
reference  to  us,  or  rather,  bear,  in  being  delightful,  evi- 
25  dence  of  having  been  produced  by  the  power  of  the  same 
spirit  as  our  own. 

62.  And  we  are  led  to  feel  this  still  more  strongly 
because  all  the  distinctions  of  species,^  both  in  plants  and 

^ The  facts  on  which  T am  about  to  dwell  are  in  nowise  antago- 
30  nistic  to  the  theories  which  Mr.  Darwin’s®  unwearied  and  unerr- 
ing investigations  are  every  day  rendering  more  probable.  The 
aesthetic  relations  of  species  are  independent  of  their  origin. 
Nevertheless,  it  has  alway  s seemed  to  me,  in  what  little  wojk  I 
1 as'e  done  upon  organic  forms,  as  if  the  sjK'cies  mocked  us  by 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EAETH 


175 


animals,  appear  to  have  similar  connection  with  human 
character.  Whatever  the  origin  of  species  may  be,  or 
however  those  species,  once  formed,  may  be  influenced  by 
external  accident,  the  groups  into  which  birth  or  accident 
reduce  them  have  distinct  relation  to  the  spirit  of  man.  It  5 
is  perfectly  possible,  and  ultimately  conceivable,  that 
the  crocodile  and  the  lamb  may  have  descended  from 
the  same  anc^estral  atom  of  protoplasm ; and  that  the 
physical  laws  of  the  operation  of  calcareous  slime®  and  of 
meadow  grass,  on  that  protoplasm,  may  in  time  have  de-  10 
veloped  the  opposite  natures  and  aspects  of  the  living 
frames ; but  the  practically  important  fact  for  us  is  the 
existence  of  a power  which  creates  that  calcareous  earth 
itself,  — which  creates,  that  separately  — and  quartz, 
separately ; and  gold,  separately ; and  charcoal,  separately ; 15 
and  then  so  directs  the  relation  of  these  elements  as  that 
the  gold  shall  destroy  the  souls  of  men  by  being  yellow; 
and  the  charcoal  destroy  their  souls  by  being  hard  and 
bright ; and  the  quartz  represent  to  them  an  ideal  purity ; 
and  the  calcareous  earth,  soft,  shall  beget  crocodiles,  and,  20 
dry  and  hard,  sheep ; and  that  the  aspects  and  qualities 
of  these  two  products,  crocodiles  and  lambs,  shall  be,  the 
one  repellent  to  the  spirit  of  man,  the  other  at  tract  iv’e 
to  it,  in  a quite  inevitable  way ; representing  to  him  states 
of  moral  evil  and  good  ; and  becoming  myths  to  him  of  de-  25 
struction  or  redemption,  and,  in  the  most  literal  sense, 
words  of  God. 

63.  And  the  force  of  these  facts  cannot  be  escaped  from 
by  the  thought  that  there  are  species  innumerable,  passing 
into  each  other  by  regular  gradations,  out  of  which  we  3c 
choose  what  we  most  love  or  dread,  and  say  they  were 

their  deliberate  imitation  of  each  other  when  they  met;  yet  did 
not  pass  one  into  another. 


176 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


indeed  prepared  for  us.  Species  are  not  innumerable; 
neither  are  they  now  connected  by  consistent  gradation. 
They  touch  at  certain  points  only ; and  even  then  are  con- 
nected, when  we  examine  them  deeply,  in  a kind  of  reticu- 
5 lated  way,  not  in  chains,  but  in  chequers ; also,  however 
connected,  it  is  but  by  a touch  of  the  extremities,  as  it 
were,  and  the  characteristic  form  of  the  species  is  entirely 
individual.  The  rose  nearly  sinks  into  a grass  in  the  san- 
guisorba ; but  the  formative  spirit  does  not  the  less  clearly 
lo  separate  the  ear  of  wheat  from  the  dog-rose,  and  oscillate 
with  tremulous  constancy  round  the  central  forms  of  both, 
having  each  their  due  relation  to  the  mind  of  man.  The 
great  animal  kingdoms  are  connected  in  the  same  way. 
The  bird  through  the  penguin  drops  tow^ards  the  fish,  and 
15  the  fish  in  the  cetacean  reascends  to  the  mammal,  yet  there 
is  no  confusion  of  thought  possible  between  the  perfect 
forms  of  an  eagle,  a trout,  and  a war-horse,  in  their  re- 
lations to  the  elements,  and  to  man. 

64.  Now  we  have  two  orders  of  animals  to  take  some 
20  note  of  in  connection  with  Athena,  and  one  vast  order  of 

plants,  which  will  illustrate  this  matter  very  sufficiently 
for  us. 

The  orders  of  animals  are  the  serpent  and  the  bird: 
the  serpent,  in  which  the  breath  or  spirit  is  less  than  in  any 
25  other  creature,  and  the  earth-power  greatest ; the  bird, 
in  which  the  breath  or  spirit  is  more  full  than  in  any  other 
creature,  and  the  earth-power  least. 

65.  We  will  take  the  bird  first.  It  is  little  more  than  a 
drift  of  the  air  brought  into  form  by  plumes ; the  air  is  in 

30  all  its  quills,  it  breathes  through  its  whole  frame  and  flesh, 
and  glows  with  air  in  its  flying,  like  blown  flame ; it  rests 
upon  the  air,  subdues  it,  surpasses  it,  outraces  it,  — is  the 
air,  conscious  of  itself,  conquering  itself,  ruling  itself. 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


177 


Also,  in  the  throat  of  the  bird  is  given  the  voice  of  the 
air.  All  that  in  the  wind  itself  is  weak,  wild,  useless  in 
sweetness,  is  knit  together  in  its  song.  As  we  may  imagine 
the  wild  form  of  the  cloud  closed  into  the  perfect  form  of 
the  bird^s  wings,  so  the  wild  voice  of  the  cloud  into  its  5 
ordered  and  commanded  voice ; unwearied,  rippling 
through  the  clear  heaven  in  its  gladness,  interpreting  all 
intense  passion  through  the  soft  spring  nights,  bursting 
into  acclaim  and  rapture  of  choir  at  daybreak,  or  lisping 
and  twittering  among  the  boughs  and  hedges  through  heat  lo 
of  day,  like  little  winds  that  only  make  the  cowslip  bells 
shake,  and  ruffle  the  petals  of  the  wild  rose. 

66.  Also,  upon  the  plumes  of  the  bird  are  put  the  colors 
of  the  air ; on  these  the  gold  of  the  cloud,  that  cannot  be 
gathered  by  any  covetousness ; the  rubies  of  the  clouds,  15 
that  are  not  the  price  of  Athena,  but  are  Athena ; the  ver- 
milion of  the  cloud-bar,  and  the  flame  of  the  cloud-crest, 
and  the  snow  of  the  cloud,  and  its  shadow,  and  the  melted 
blue  of  the  deep  wells  of  the  sky,  — all  these,  seized  by  the 
creating  spirit,  and  woven  by  Athena  herself  into  films  20 
and  threads  of  plume ; with  wave  on  wave  following  and 
fading  along  breast,  and  throat,  and  opened  wings,  infi- 
nite as  the  dividing  of  the  foam  and  the  sifting  of  the  sea- 
sand  ; even  the  white  down  of  the  cloud  seeming  to  flutter 
up  between  the  stronger  plumes,  — seen,  but  too  soft  for  25 
touch. 

And  so  the  Spirit  of  the  Air  is  put  into,  and  upon,  this 
created  form ; and  it  becomes,  through  twenty  centuries, 
the  symbol  of  divine  help,  descending,  as  the  Fire,  to 
speak, ° but  as  the  Dove,  to  bless.®  30 

67.  Next,  in  the  serpent  we  approach  the  source  of  a 
group  of  myths,  world-wide,  founded  on  great  and  com- 
mon human  instincts,  respecting  which  I must  note  one  or 

N 


178 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


two  points  which  bear  intimately  on  all  our  subject.  For 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  scholars  who  are  at  present  oc- 
cupied in  interpretation  of  human  myths  have  most  of 
them  forgotten  that  there  are  any  such  thing  as  natural 
5 myths,  and  that  the  dark  sayings  of  men  may  be  both 
difficult  to  read,  and  not  always  worth  reading,  but  the 
dark  sayings  of  nature  will  probably  become  clearer  for 
the  looking  into,  and  will  very  certainly  be  worth  reading. 
And,  indeed,  all  guidance  to  the  right  sense  of  the  human 
lo  and  variable  myths  will  probably  depend  on  our  first  get- 
ting at  the  sense  of  the  natural  and  invariable  ones.  The 
■ dead  hieroglyph®  may  have  meant  this  or  that ; the  living 
hieroglyph  means  always  the  same;  but  remember,  it  is 
just  as  much  a hieroglyph  as  the  other ; nay,  more,  — a 
15  sacred  or  reserved  sculpture, a thing  with  an  inner 
language.  The  serpent  crest  of  the  king^s  crown,  or  of  the 
god^s,  on  the  pillars  of  Egypt,  is  a mystery,  but  the  ser- 
pent itself,  gliding  past  the  pillar’s  foot,  is  it  less  a mystery  ? 
Is  there,  indeed,  no  tongue,  except  the  mute  forked  flash 
20  from  its  lips,  in  that  running  brook  of  horror  on  the 
ground  ? 

68.  Why  that  horror  ? We  all  feel  it,  yet  how  imagina- 
tive it  is,  how  disproportioned  to  the  real  strength  of  the 
creature ! There  is  more  poison  in  an  ill-kept  drain,  in  a 
25  pool  of  dish-washings  at  a cottage  door,  than  in  the  dead- 
liest asp  of  Nile.  Every  back  yard  which  you  look  down 
into  from  the  railway,  as  it  carries  you  out  by  Vauxhall  or 
Deptford,  holds  its  coiled  serpent;  all  the  walls  of  those 
ghastly  suburbs  are  enclosures  of  tank  temples  for  serpent- 
30  worship ; yet  you  feel  no  horror  in  looking  down  into  them, 
as  you  would  if  you  saw  the  livid  scales  and  lifted  head. 
There  is  more  venom,  mortal,  inevital)le,  in  a single  word, 
sometimes,  or  in  the  gliding  entrance  of  a wordless  thought, 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


179 


than  ever  “vanti  Libia  con  sua  rena/^°  But  that  liorror 
is  of  the  myth,  not  of  the  creature.  There  are  myriads 
lower  than  this,  and  more  loathsome,  in  the  scale  of  being ; 
the  links  between  dead  matter  and  animation  drift  every- 
where unseen.  But  it  is  the  strength  of  the  base  element 
that  is  so  dreadful  in  the  serpent ; it  is  the  very  omnipo- 
tence of  the  earth.  That  rivulet  of  smooth  silver,  how 
does  it  flow,  think  you?  It  literally  rows  on  the  earth, 
with  every  scale  for  an  oar;  it  bites  the  dust  with  the 
ridges  of  its  body.  Watch  it,  when  it  moves  slowly.  A 
wave,  but  without  wind ! a current,  but  with  no  fall ! 
all  the  body  moving  at  the  same  instant,  yet  some  of  it 
to  one  side,  some  to  another,  or  some  forward,  and  the 
rest  of  the  coil  backwards,  but  all  with  the  same  calm  will 
and  equal  way,  no  contraction,  no  extension ; one  sound- 
less, causeless,  march  of 'sequent  rings,  and  spectral  pro- 
cessions of  spotted  dust,  with  dissolution  in  its  fangs,  dis- 
location in  its  coils.  Startle  it,  the  winding  stream  will 
become  a twisted  arrow;  the  wave  of  poisoned  life  will 
lash  through  the  grass  like  a cast  lance. ^ It  scarcely 

^ T cannot  understand  this  swift  forward  motion  of  serpents. 
'Hie  seizure  of  prey  by  tlie  constrictor,  though  invisibly  swift,  is 
quite  simple  in  mechanism;  it  is  simply  the  return  to  its  coil  of 
an  opened  watch-spring,  and  i«  just  as  instantaneous.  But  the 
steady  and  continuous  motion,  without  a visible  fulcrum  (for  the 
whole  body  moves  at  the  same  instant,  and  I have  often  seen 
even  small  snakes  glide  as  fast  as  I could  walk),  seems  to  involve 
a vibration  of  the  scales  quite  too  rapid  to  be  conceived.  The 
motion  of  the  crest  and  dorsal  fin  of  the  hippocampus,®  which  is 
one  of  the  intermediate  types  between  serpent  and  fish,  perhaps 
gives  some  resemblance  of  it,  dimly  visible,  for  the  quivering 
turns  the  fin  into  a mere  mist.  The  entrance  of  the  two  barbs 
of  a bee's  sting  by  alternate  motion,  ‘The  teeth  < f one  barb  act- 
ing as  a fulcrum  for  the  other,’'  must  be  something  like  the 
serpent  motion  on  a small  scale. 


5 

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20 

25 

30 

35 


180 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


breathes  with  its  one  lung  (the  other  shrivelled  and  abor- 
tive) ; it  is  passive  to  the  sun  and  shade,  and  is  cold  or 
hot  like  a stone;  yet  ‘^it  can  outclimb  the  monkey,  out- 
swim  the  fish,  outleap  the  zebra,  outwrestle  the  athlete, 
5 and  crush  the  tiger/^^  It  is  a divine  hieroglyph  of  the 
demoniac  power  of  the  earth,  of  the  entire  earthly  nature. 
As  the  bird  is  the  clothed  power  of  the  air,  so  this  is  the 
clothed  power  of  the  dust ; as  the  bird  the  symbol  of  the 
spirit  of  life,  so  this  of  the  grasp  and  sting  of  death, 
lo  69.  Hence  the  continual  change  in  the  interpretation 
put  upon  it  in  various  religions.  As  the  worm  of  corrup- 
tion, it  is  the  mightiest  of  all  adversaries  of  the  gods  — 
the  special  adversary  of  their  light  and  creative  power  — - 
Python  against  Apollo.  As  the  power  of  the  earth  against 
IS  the  air,  the  giants  are  serpent-bodied  in  the  Gigantoma- 
chia° ; but  as  the  power  of  the  earth  upon  the  seed  — con- 
suming it  into  new  life  (^Hhat  which  thou  sowest  is  not 
quickened  except  it  die^0°  — serpents  sustain  the  chariot 
of  the  spirit  of  agriculture. 

20  70.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  a power  in  the  earth 

to  take  away  corruption,  and  to  purify  (hence  the  very  fact 
of  burial,  and  many  uses  of  earth,  only  lately  known)  ; 
and  in  this  sense  the  serpent  is  a healing  spirit,  — the 
representative  of  ^sculapius,®  and  of  Hygieia°;  and  is  a 
25  sacred  earth-type  in  the  temple  of  the  Dew,  being  there  es- 
pecially a symbol  of  the  native  earth  of  Athens ; so  that  its 
departure  from  the  temple  was  a sign  to  the  Athenians 
that  they  were  to  leave  their  homes.  And  then,  lastly, 
as  there  is  a strength  and  healing  in  the  earth,  no  less  than 
30  the  strength  of  air,  so  there  is  conceived  to  be  a wisdom 
of  earth  no  less  than  a wisdom  of  the  spirit ; and  when  its 
deadly  power  is  killed,  its  guiding  power  becomes  true ; so 

^ Richard  Owen. 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


181 


that  the  Python  serpent  is  killed  at  Delphi,®  where  yet  the 
oracle  is  from  the  breath  of  the  earth. 

71.  You  must  remember,  however,  that  in  this,  as  in 
every  other  instance,  I take  the  myth  at  its  central  time. 
This  is  only  the  meaning  of  the  serpent  to  the  Greek  mind 
which  could  conceive  an  Athena.  Its  first  meaning  to 
the  nascent  eyes®  of  men,  and  its  continued  influence 
over  degraded  races,  are  subjects  of  the  most  fearful  mys- 
tery. Mr.  Fergusson  has  just  collected  the  principal  evi- 
dence bearing  on  the  matter  in  a work  of  very  great  value, 
and  if  you  read  his  opening  chapters,  they  will  put  you  in 
possession  of  the  circumstances  needing  chiefly  to  be  con- 
sidered. I cannot  touch  upon  any  of  them  here,  except 
only  to  point  out  that,  though  the  doctrine  of  the  so-called 
corruption  of  human  nature,^^  asserting  that  there  is 
nothing  but  evil  in  humanity,  is  just  as  blasphemous  and 
false  as  a doctrine  of  the  corruption  of  physical  nature 
would  be,  asserting  there  was  nothing  but  evil  in  the  earth, 
— there  is  yet  the  clearest  evidence  of  a disease,  plague,  or 
cretinous  imperfection  of  development,  hitherto  allowed 
to  prevail  against  the  greater  part  of  the  races  of  men; 
and  this  in  monstrous  ways,  more  full  of  mystery  than 
the  serpent-being  itself.  I have  gathered  for  you  to-night 
only  instances  of  what  is  beautiful  in  Greek  religion ; but 
even  in  its  best  time  there  were  deep  corruptions  in  other 
phases  of  it,  and  degraded  forms  of  many  of  its  deities,  all 
originating  in  a misunderstood  worship  of  the  principle 
of  life ; while  in  the  religions  of  lower  races,  little  less  than 
these  corrupted  forms  of  devotion  can  be  found,  all  having 
a strange  and  dreadful  consistency  with  each  other,  and 
infecting  Christianity,  even  at  its  strongest  periods,  with 
fatal  terror  of  doctrine,  and  ghastliness  of  symbolic  con- 
ception, passing  through  fear  into  frenzied  grotesque,® 
and  thence  into  sensuality. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


‘ THE  QLEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


1S‘J 


In  the  Psalter  of  St.  Louis®  itself,  half  of  its  letters  are 
t\\*isted  snakes ; there  is  seareely  a wreathed  ornament 
employed  in  Christian  dress,  or  architecture,  which  can- 
not be  traced  back  to  the  serpent ^s  coil ; and  there  is  rarely 
5 a piece  of  monkish  decorated  writing  in  the  world  that  is 
not  tainted  with  some  ill-meant  vileness  of  grotesque,  — 
nay,  the  very  leaves  of  the  twisted  hy-pattern  of  the 
fourteenth  century  can  be  followed  back  to  wreaths  for 
the  foreheads  of  bacchanalian  gods.  And  truly,  it  seems 
lo  to  me,  as  I gather  in  my  mind  the  evidences  of  insane 
religion,  degraded  art,  merciless  war,  sullen  toil,  detestable 
pleasure,  and  vain  or  vile  hope,  in  which  th^  nations  of 
the  world  have  lived  since  fii'st  they  could  bear  record  of 
themselves  — it  seems  to  me,  I say,  as  if  the  race  itself 
15  were  stiU  haK-serpent,  not  extricated  yet  from  its  clay; 
a lacertine®  breed  of  bitterness  — the  glory  of  it  emaciate 
with  cruel  hunger,  and  blotted  with  venomous  stain,  and 
the  track  of  it,  on  the  leaf  a glittering  slime,  and  in  the 
sand  a useless  furrow. 

20  72.  There  are  no  m^qhs,  therefore,  by  which  the  moral 

state  and  fineness  of  intelligence  of  different  races  can  be 
so  deeply  tried  or  measured,  as  by  those  of  the  serpent  and 
the  bird ; both  of  them  having  an  especial  relation  to  the 
kind  of  remorse  for  sin,  or  for  grief  in  fate,  of  which  the 
25  national  minds  that  spoke  by  them  had  been  capable. 
The  serpent  and  vulture  are  alike  emblems  of  immortality 
and  purification  among  races  which  desired  to  be  immortal 
and  pure;  and  as  they  recognize  their  own  misery,  the 
.serpent  becomes  to  them  the  scourge  of  the  Fjries,  and 
30  the  vulture  finds  its  eternal  prey  in  their  breast.  The 
bird  long  contests  among  the  Eg}q:>tians  with  the  still 
received  serpent  .yrnbol  of  power.  But  the  Draconian 
image  of  evil  is  established  in  the  serpent  Apap ; while 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


18.3 


the  bird^s  wings,  with  the  globe,  become  part  of  a better 
symbol  of  deity,  and  the  entire  form  of  the  vulture,  as  an 
emblem  of  purification,  is  associated  with  the  earliest  con- 
ception of  Athena.  In  the  type  of  the  dove  with  the  olive 
branch, ° the  conception  of  the  spirit  of  Athena  in  renewed  5 
life  prevailing  over  ruin  is  embodied  for  the  whole  of  fu- 
turity; while  the  Greeks,  to  whom,  in  a happier  climate 
and  higher  life  than  that  of  Egypt,  the  vulture  symbol  of 
cleansing  became  unintelligible,  took  the  eagle  instead  for 
their  hieroglyph  of  supreme  spiritual  energy,  and  it  thence-  10 
forward  retains  its  hold  on  the  human  imagination,  till 
it  is  established  among  Christian  myths  as  the  expression 
of  the  most  exalted  form  of  evangelistic  teaching.  The 
special  relation  of  Athena  to  her  favorite  bird  we  will 
trace  presently ; the  peacock  of  Hera,°  and  dove  of  Aphro-  15 
dite,°  are  comparatively  unimportant  myths;  but  the  bird 
power  is  soon  made  entirely  human  by  the  Greeks  in  their 
flying  angel  of  victory  (partially  human,  with  modified 
meaning  of  evil,  in  the  Harpy  and  Siren)  ; and  thence- 
forward it  associates  itself  with  the  Hebrew  cherubim,®  2c 
and  has  had  the  most  singular  influence  on  the  Christian 
religion  by  giving  its  wings  to  render  the  conception 
of  angels  mysterious  and  untenable,  and  check  rational  en- 
deavor to  determine  the  nature  of  subordinate  spiritual 
agency  ; while  yet  it  has  given  to  that  agency  a vague  poet  - 25 
ical  influence  of  the  highest  value  *in  its  own  imaginative 
way. 

73.  But  with  the  earlv  serpent-worship  there  was  as- 
sociated another,  that  of  the  groves,  of  which  you  will  also 
find  the  evidenc^e  exhaustively  collected  in  Mr.  Fergus- 3c 
son’s®  work.  This  tree-worship  may  have  taken  a dark 
form  when  associated  with  the  Draconian  one® ; or  opposed, 
as  in  Judea,®  to  a purer  faith;  but  in  itself,  I believe,  it 


184 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


was  always  healthy,  and  though  it  retains  little  definite 
hieroglyphic  power  in  subsequent  religion,  it  becomes,  in- 
stead of  symbolic,  real;  the  flowers  and  trees  are  them- 
selves beheld  and  beloved  with  a half -worshipping  delight 
5 which  is  always  noble  and  healthful. 

And  it  is  among  the  most  notable  indications  of  tns  vo- 
lition of  the  animating  power  that  we  find  the  ethicai  s gns 
of  good  and  evil  set  on  these  also,  as  well  as  upon  animals ; 
the  venom  of  the  serpent,  and  in  some  respects  its  image 
lo  also,  being  associated  even  with  the  passicr  <ess  growth 
of  the  leaf  out  of  the  ground;  while  the  d'stinctions  of 
species  seem  appointed  with  more  definite  3 ohical  address 
to  the  intelligence  of  man  as  their  material  products  be- 
come more  useful  to  him. 

15  74.  I can  easily  show  this,  and,  at  the  same  time,  make 

clear  the  relation  to  other  plants  of  th3  flowers  which  es- 
pecially belong  to  Athena,  by  examining  the  natural  myths 
in  the  groups  of  the  pl'i'nts  which  would  ba  used  at  any 
country  dinner,  over  wh.ch  Athena  would,  in  her  simplest 
20  household  authority,  cheerfully  rule  here  m England.  Sup- 
pose Horace ^s  favorite  dish  of  beans,  \ "th  the  bacon; 
potatoes ; some  savory  stuffing  of  onions  and  herbs,  with 
the  meat;  celery,  and  a radi  .1  or  two,  wi^h  tne  cheese; 
nuts  and  apples  for  dessert,  and  brown  bread. 

25  75.  The  beans  are,  from  earliest  time,  the  most  impor- 

tant and  interesting  of  the  seeds  of  the  great  tribe  of  plants 
from  which  came  the  Latin  and  French  name  for  ail 
kitchen  vegetables,  — things  that  are  gathered  with  the 
hand  — podded  seeds  that  cannot  be  reaped,  or  beaten, 
30  or  shaken  down,  but  must  be  gathered  green.  “Legu- 
minous^^ plants,®  all  of  them  having  flowers  like  butter- 
flies, seeds  in  (frequently  pendent)  j^ods,  — “lajtuin  sili- 
qua  quassante  legumen  ^ smooth  and  tender  leaves, 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


185 


divided  into  many  minor  ones ; strange  adjuncts  of  tendril,  , 
for  climbing  (and  sometimes  of  thorn) ; exquisitely  sweet, 
yet  pure,  scents  of  blossom,  and  almost  always  harmless, 
if  not  serviceable,  seeds.  It  is  of  all  tribes  of  plants  the 
most  definite,  its  blossoms  being  entirely  limited  in  theirs 
parts,  and  not  passing  into  other  forms.  It  is  also  the 
most  usefully  extended  in  range  and  scale;  familiar  in 
the  height  of  the  forest  — acacia,  laburnum,  Judas-tree; 
familiar  in  the  sown  field  — bean  and  vetch®  and  pea ; fa- 
miliar in  the  pasture  — : in  every  form  of  clustered  clover  lo 
and  sweet  trefoil  tracery®;  the  most  entirely  serviceable 
and  human  of  all  orders  of  plants. 

76.  Next,  in  the  potato,  we  have  the  scarcely  innocent 
underground  stem  of  one  of  a tribe  set  aside  for  evil ; hav- 
ing the  deadly  nightshade  for  its  queen,  and  including  the  15 
henbane,  the  witches  mandrake,  and  the  worst  natural 
curse  of  modern  civilization  — tobacco.^  And  the  strange 
thing  about  this  tribe  is,  that  though  thus  set  aside  for  evil, 
they  are  not  a group  distinctly  separate  from  those  that  are 
happier  in  function.  There  is  nothing  in  other  tribes  of  20 
plants  like  the  form  of  the  bean  blossom ; but  there  is 
another  family  with  forms  and  structure  closely  con- 
nected with  this  venomous  one.  Examine  the  purple  and 
yellow  bloom  of  the  common  hedge  nightshade ; you  will 
find  it  constructed  exactly  like  some  of  the  forms  of  the  25 
cyclamen,  and,  getting  this  clue,  you  will  find  at  last  the 
whole  poisonous  and  terrible  group  to  be  — sisters  of  the 
primulas ! 

The  nightshades  are,  in  fact,  primroses  with  a curse 
upon  them ; and  a sign  set  in  their  petals,  by  which  the  3° 

^ It  is  not  easy  to  estimate  the  demoralizing  effect  on  the  youth 
of  Europe  of  the  cigar,  in  enabling  them  to  pass  their  time  happily 
in  idleness. 


186 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


deadly  and  condemned  flowers  may  always  be  known  from 
the  innocent  ones,  — that  the  stamens  of  the  nightshades 
are  between  the  lobes,  and  of  the  primulas,  opposite  the 
lobes,  of  the  corolla.® 

5 77.  Next,  side  by  side,  in  the  celery  and  radish,  you  have 

the  two  great  groups  of  umbelled  and  cruciferous  plants® ; 
alike  in  conditions  of  rank  among  herbs : both  flowering  in 
clusters;  but  the  umbelled  group,  flat,  the  crucifers,  in 
spires ; both  of  them  mean  and  poor  in  the  blossom,  and 
lo  losing  what  beauty  they  have  by  too  close  crowding ; 
both  of  them  having  the  most  curious  influence  on  human 
character  in  the  temperate  zones  of  the  earth,  from  the 
days  of  the  parsley  crown,  and  hemlock  drink,®  and 
mocked  Euripidean  chervil,®  until  now;  but  chiefly 
15  among  the  northern  nations,  being  especially  plants  that 
are  of  some  humble  beauty,  and  (the  crucifers)  of  endless 
use,  when  they  are  chosen  and  cultivated;  but  that  run 
to  wild  waste,  and  are  the  signs  of  neglected  ground,  in 
their  rank  or  ragged  leaves  and  meagre  stalks,  and  pursed 
20  or  podded  seed  clusters.  Capable,  even  under  cultivation, 
of  no  perfect  beauty,  though  reaching  some  subdued  de- 
lightfulness in  the  lady’s  smock  and  the  wallflower;  for 
the  most  part  they  have  every  floral  quality  meanl}q  and 
in  vain,  — they  are  white,  without  purity ; golden,  with- 
25  out  preciousness;  redundant,  without  richness;  divided, 
without  fineness  ; massive,  without  strength ; and  slender, 
without  grace.  Yet  think  over  that  useful  vulgarity  of 
theirs ; and  of  the  relations  of  German  and  English  peas- 
ant character  to  its  food  of  kraut  and  cabbage  (as  of  Arab 
30  character  to  its  food  of  palm-fruit),  and  you  will  begin  to 
feel  what  purposes  of  the  forming  spirit  are  in  these  dis- 
tinctions of  species. 

78.  Next  we  take  the  nuis  and  apples,  — the  nuts 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


187 


representing  one  of  the  groups  of  catkined  trees,®  whose 
blossoms  are  only  tufts  and  dust ; and  the  other,  the 
rose  tribe,  in  which  fruit  and  flower  alike  have  been 
the  types,  to  the  highest  races  of  men,  of  all  passionate 
temptation,  or  pure  delight,  from  the  coveting  of  Eve® 
to  the  crowning  of  the  Madonna,  above  the 

“ Rosa  sempiterna, 

Che  si  dilata,  rigrada,  e ridole 
Odor  di  lode  al  Sol/'® 

We  have  no  time  now  for  these,  we  must  go  on  to  the  hum- 
blest group  of  all,  yet  the  most  wonderful,  that  of  the  grass 
which  has  given  us  our  bread ; and  from  that  we  will  go 
back  to  the  herbs. 

79.  The  vast  family  of  plants  which,  under  rain,  make 
the  earth  green  for  man,  and,  under  sunshine,  give  him 
bread,  and,  in  their  springing  in  the  early  year,  mixed  with 
their  native  flowers,  have  given  us  (far  more  than  the  new 
leaves  of  trees)  the  thought  and  word  of  spring,"  divide 
themselves  broadly  into  three  great  groups  — the  grasses, 
sedges,  and  rushes.  The  grasses  are  essentially  a clothing 
for  healthy  and  pure  ground,  watered  by  occasional 
rain  but  in  itself  dry,  and  fit  for  all  cultivated  pasture 
and  corn.  They  are  distinctively  plants  with  round  and 
jointed  stems,  which  have  long  green  flexible  leaves,  and 
heads  of  seed,  independently  emerging  from  them.  The 
sedges  are  essentially  the  clothing  of  waste  and  more  or  less 
poor  or  uncultivated  soils,  coarse  in  their  structure,  fre- 
quently triangular  in  stem  — hence  called  acute"  by 
Virgil  — and  with  their  heads  of  seed  not  extricated  from 
their  leaves.  Now,  in  both  the  sedges  and  grasses,  the 
blossom  has  a common  structure,  though  undevelo}:)ed  in 
the  sedges,  but  composed  always  of  grou})s  of  double  husks, 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

3a 


188 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


which  have  mostly  a spinous  process®  in  the  centre,  some- 
times projecting  into  a long  awn  or  beard®;  this  central 
process  being  characteristic  also  of  the  ordinary  leaves  of 
mosses,  as  if  a moss  were  a kind  of  ear  of  corn  made  per- 
5 manently  green  on  the  ground,  and  with  a new  and  distinct 
fructification.  But  the  rushes  differ  wholly  from  the  sedge 
and  grass  in  their  blossom  structure.  It  is  not  a dual 
cluster,  but  a twice  threefold  one,  so  far  separate  from  the 
grasses,  and  so  closely  connected  with  a higher  order  of 
lo  plants,  that  I think  you  will  find  it  convenient  to  group 
the  rushes  at  once  with  that  higher  order,  to  which,  if  you 
will  for  the  present  let  me  give  the  general  name  of  Dro- 
sidae,  or  dew-plants,  it  will  enable  me  to  say  what  I have  to 
say  of  them  much  more  shortly  and  clearly. 

15  80.  These  Drosidse,  then,  are  plants  delighting  in  inter- 

rupted moisture  — moisture  which  comes  either  partially 
or  at  certain  seasons  — into  dry  ground.  They  are  not 
water-plants,  but  the  signs  of  water  resting  among  dry 
places.  Many  of  the  true  water-plants  have  triple  blos- 
20  soms,  with  a small  triple  calyx  holding  them ; in  the 
Drosidae  the  floral  spirit  passes  into  the  calyx  also,  and  the 
entire  flower  becomes  a six-rayed  star,  bursting  out  of  the 
stem  laterally,  as  if  it  were  the  first  of  flowers  and  had 
made  its  way  to  the  light  by  force  through  the  unwilling 
25  green.  They  are  often  required  to  retain  moisture  or 
nourishment  for  the  future  blossom  through  long  times 
of  drought;  and  this  they  do  in  bulbs  under  ground,  of 
which  some  become  a rude  and  simple,  but  most  whole- 
some, food  for  man. 

30  81.  So,  now,  observe,  you  are  to  divide  the  whole  family 

of  the  herbs  of  the  field  into  three  great  groups,  — Drosidae, 
Carices,^  Gramineae,  — dew-plants,  sedges,  and  grasses. 

^ I think  Carex  will  be  found  ultimately  better  than  Cyperus  for 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


189 


Then  the  Drosidse  are  divided  into  five  great  orders  : lilies, 
asphodels,  amaryllids,  irids,  and  rushes.®  No  tribes  of 
flowers  have  had  so  great,  so  varied,  or  so  healthy  an  influ- 
ence on  man  as  this  great  group  of  Drosidae,  depending,  not 
so  much  on  the  whiteness  of  some  of  their  blossoms,  or  5 
the  radiance  of  others,  as  on  the  strength  and  delicacy  of 
the  substance  of  their  petals ; enabling  them  to  take  forms 
of  faultless  elastic  curvature,  either  in  cups,  as  the  crocus, 
or  expanding  bells,  as  the  true  lily,  or  heath-like  bells,  as 
the  hyacinth,  or  bright  and  perfect  stars,  like  the  star  of  10 
Bethlehem,  or,  when  they  are  affected  by  the  strange  reflex 
of  the  serpent  nature  which  forms  the  labiate  group  of  all 
flowers,  closing  into  forms  of  exquisitely  fantastic  sym- 
metry in  the  gladiolus.  Put  by  their  side  their  Nereid 
sisters,  the  water-lilies,®  and  you  have  in  them  the  origin  15 
of  the  loveliest  forms  of  ornamental  design,  and  the 
most  powerful  floral  myths  yet  recognized  among  human 
spirits,  born  by  the  streams  of  Ganges,  Nile,  Arno,  and 
Avon.® 

82.  For  consider  a little  what  each  of  those  five  tribes  ^ 20 
has  been  to  the  spirit  of  man.  First,  in  their  nobleness,  the 
lilies  gave  the  lily  of  the  Annunciation®;  the  asphodels, 
the  flower  of  the  Elysian  fields ; the  irids,  the  fieur-de-lys® 
of  chivalry ; and  the  amaryllids,  Christas  lily  of  the  field® ; 
while  the  rush,  trodden  always  under  foot,  became  the  25 
emblem  of  humility.  Then  take  each  of  the  tribes,  and 

the  generic  name,  being  the  Vergilian  word,  and  representing  a 
larger  sub-species. 

2 Take  this  rough  distinction  of  the  four  tribes:  lilies,  superior 
ovary,  white  seeds;  asphodels,  superior  ovary,  black  seeds;  irids,  30 
inferior  ovary,  style  (typically)  rising  into  central  crest ; amaryl- 
lids, inferior  ovary,  stamens  (typically)  joined  in  central  cup. 
Then  the  rushes  are  a dark  group,  through  which  they  stoop  to 
.the  grasses. 


190 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


consider  the  extent  of  their  lower  influence.  Perdita’s^ 
'^The  crown  imperial,  lilies  of  all  kinds,''  are  the  first  tribe, 
which,  giving  the  type  of  perfect  purity  in  the  Madonna's 
lily,  have,  by  their  lovely  form,  influenced  the  entire  deco- 
5 rative  design  of  Italian  sacred  art ; while  ornament  of  war 
was  continually  erg:-iched  by  the  curves  of  the  triple  petals 
of  the  Florentine  ^^giglio,"°  and  French  fleur-de-lys;  so 
that  it  is  impossible  to  count  their  influence  for  good  in 
the  middle  ages,  partly  as  a symbol  of  womanly  character, 
lo  and  partly  of  the  utmost  brightness  and  refinement  of 
chivalry  in  the  city  which  was  the  flower  of  cities. 

Afterwards,  tlie  group  of  the  turban-lilies,  or  tulips,  did 
some  mischief  (their  splendid  stains  having  made  them 
the  favorite  caprice  of  florists) ; but  they  may  be  pardoned 
1 5 all  such  guilt  for  the  pleasure  they  have  given  in  cottage 
gardens,  and  are  yet  to  give,  when  lowly  life  may  again 
be  possible  among  us ; and  the  crimson  bars  of  the  tulips 
in  their  trim  beds,  with  their  likeness  in  crimson  bars  of 
morning  above  them,  and  its  dew  glittering  heavy,  globed 
20  in  their  glossy  cups,  may  be  loved  better  than  the  gray 
nettles  of  the  ash  heap,  under  gray  sky,  unveined  by  ver- 
milion or  by  gold.® 

83.  The  next  great  group,  of  the  asphodels,  divides  it- 
self also  into  two  principal  families : one,  in  which  the 
25  flowers  are  like  stars,  and  clustered  characteristically  in 
balls,  though  opening  sometimes  into  looser  heads;  and 
the  other,  in  which  the  flowers  are  in  long  bells,  open- 
ing suddenly  at  the  lips,  and  clustered  in  spires  on 
a long  stem,  or  drooping  from  it,  when  bent  by  their 
30  weight. 

The  star-group,  of  the  squills,  garlics,  and  onions,  has 
always  caused  me  great  wonder.  I cannot  understand 
why  its  beauty,  and  serviceableness,  should  have  been  as- 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


191 


sociated  with  the  rank  scent  which  has  been  really  among 
the  most  powerful  means  of  degrading  peasant  life,  and 
separating  it  from  that  of  the  higher  classes. 

The  belled  group,  of  the  hyacinth  and  convallaria,® 
is  as  delicate  as  the  other  is  coarse ; the  unspeakable  azure  5 
light  along  the  ground  of  the  wood  hyacinth  in  English 
spring;  the  grape  hyacinth,  which  is  in  south  France,  as 
if  a cluster  of  grapes  and  a hive  of  honey  had  been  distilled 
and  compressed  together  into  one  small  boss  of  celled  and 
beaded  blue ; the  lilies  of  the  valley  everywhere,  in  each  10 
sweet  and  wild  recess  of  rocky  lands,  — count  the  in- 
fluences of  these  on  childish  and  innocent  life ; then  meas- 
ure the  mythic  power  of  the  hyacinth  and  asphodel  as 
connected  with  Greek  thoughts  of  immortality;  finally 
take  their  useful  and  nourishing  power  in  ancient  and  15 
modern  peasant  life,  and  it  will  be  strange  if  you  do  not 
feel  what  fixed  relation  exists  between  the  agency  of  the 
creating  spirit  in  these,  and  in  us  who  live  by  them. 

84.  It  is  impossible  to  bring  into  any  tenable  compass 
for  our  present  purpose,  even  hints  of  the  human  influence  20 
of  the  two  remaining  orders  of  Amaryllids  and  Irids ; only 
note  this  generally,  that  while  these  in  northern  countries 
share  with  the  Primulas  the  fields  of  spring,  it  seems  that  in 
Greece,  the  primulacese  are  not  an  extended  tribe,  while 
the  crocus,  narcissus, ° and  Amaryllis  lutea,  the  ^Gily  of  25 
the  field (I  suspect  also  that  the  flower  whose  name  we 
translate  “ violet  was  in  truth  an  iris)  represented  to  the 
Greek  the  first  coming  of  the  breath  of  life  on  the  renewed 
herbage ; and  became  in  his  thoughts  the  true  embroidery 
of  the  saffron  robe  of  Athena.  Later  in  the  year,  the  dian-  30 
thus  (which,  though  belonging  to  an  entirely  different 
race  of  plants,  has  yet  a strange  look  of  having  been  made 
out  of  the  grasses  by  turning  the  sheath-membrane  at  the 


192 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


root  of  their  leaves  into  a flower)  seems  to  scatter,  in  mul- 
titudinous families,  its  crimson  stars  far  and  wide.  But 
the  golden  lily  and  crocus,  together  with  the  asphodel, 
retain  always  the  old  Greek’s  fondest  thoughts,  — they 
5 are  only  ^‘golden”  flowers  that  are  to  burn  on  the  trees, 
and  float  on  the  streams  of  paradise. 

85.  I have  but  one  tribe  of  plants  more  to  note  at  our 
country  feast  — the  savory  herbs ; but  must  go  a little 
out  of  my  way  to  come  at  them  rightly.  All  flowers  whose 
lo  petals  are  fastened  together,  and  most  of  those  whose 
petals  are  loose,  are  best  thought  of  first  as  a kind  of  cup  or 
tube  opening  at  the  mouth.  Sometimes  the  opening  is 
gradual,  as  in  the  convolvulus  or  campanula ; oftener  there 
is  a distinct  change  of  direction  between  the  tube  and  ex- 
15  panding  lip,  as  in  the  primrose ; or  even  a contraction 
under  the  lip,  making  the  tube  into  a narrow-necked  phial 
or  vase,  as  in  the  heaths;  but  the  general  idea  of  a tube 
expanding  into  a quatrefoil,  cinquefoil,  or  sixfoil,®  will 
embrace  most  of  the  forms. 

20  86.  Now,  it  is  easy  to  conceive  that  flowers  of  this  kind, 

growing  in  close  clusters,  may,  in  process  of  time,  have 
extended  their  outside  petals  rather  than  the  interior  ones 
(as  the  outer  flowers  of  the  clusters  of  many  umbellifers 
actually  do),  and  thus  elongated  and  variously  distorted 
25  forms  have  established  themselves ; then  if  the  stalk  is 
> attached  to  the  side  instead  of  the  base  of  the  tube,  its  base 
becomes  a spur,  and  thus  all  the  grotesque  forms  of  the 
mints,  violets,  and  larkspurs,  gradually  might  be  com- 
posed. But,  however  this  may  be,  there  is  one  great  tribe 
30  of  plants  separate  from  the  rest,  and  of  which  the  influence 
seems  shed  u])on  Ihe  rest  in  different  degrees;  and  these 
would  give  the  impression,  not  so  much  of  having  been 
developed  by  change,  as  of  being  stamped  with  a character 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH  193 

of  their  own,  more  or  less  serpentine  or  dragon-like.  And 
I think  you  will  find  it  convenient  to  call  these  generally, 
Draconidce;  disregarding  their  present  ugly  botanical 
name  which  I do  not  care  even  to  write  once  — you  may 
take  for  their  principal  types  the  foxglove,  snapdragon, 
and  calceolaria ° ; and  you  will  find  they  all  agree  in  a 
tendency  to  decorate  themselves  by  spots,  and  with  bosses 
or  swollen  places  in  their  leaves,  as  if  they  had  been  touched 
by  poison.  The  spot  of  the  foxglove  is  especially  strange, 
because  it  draws  the  color  out  of  the  tissue  all  around  it, 
as  if  it  had  been  stung,  and  as  if  the  central  color  was  really 
an  inflamed  spot,  with  paleness  round.®  Then  also  they 
carry  to  its  extreme  the  decoration  by  bulging  or  pouting 
the  petal,  — often  beautifully  used  by  other  flowers  in  a 
minor  degree,  like  the  beating  out  of  bosses  in  hollow  silver, 
as  in  the  kalmia,  beaten  out  apparently  in  each  petal  by 
the  stamens  instead  of  a hammer;  or  the  borage,®  pouting 
inwards ; but  the  snapdragons  and  calceolarias  carry  it  to 
its  extreme. 

87.  Then  the  spirit  of  these  Draconidse  seems  to  pass 
more  or  less  into  other  flowers,  whose  forms  are  properly 
pure  vases ; but  it  affects  some  of  them  slightly,  others  not 
at  all.  It  never  strongly  affects  the  heaths;  never  once 
the  roses ; but  it  enters  like  an  evil  spirit  into  the  butter- 
cup, and  turns  it  into  a larkspur,  with  a black,  spotted,  gro- 
tesque centre,  and  a strange,  broken  blue,  gorgeous  and 
intense,  yet  impure,  glittering  on  the  surface  as  if  it  were 
strewn  with  broken  glass,  and  stained  or  darkening  irregu- 
larly into  red.  And  then  at  last  the  serpent  charm  changes 
the  ranunculus  into  monkshood,  and  makes  it  poisonous. 
It  enters  into  the  forget-me-not,  and  the  star  of  heavenly 
turquoise  is  corrupted  into  the  viper^s  bugloss,  darkened 
with  the  same  strange  red  as  the  larkspur,  and  fretted  into 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


o 


194 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


a fringe  of  thorn ; it  enters,  together  with  a strange  insect- 
spirit,  into  the  asphodels,  and  (though  with  a greater  inter- 
val between  the  groups)  they  change  into  spotted  orchideae ; 
it  touches  the  poppy,  it  becomes  a fumaria;  the  iris, 
5 and  it  pouts  into  a gladiolus ; the  lily,  and  it  chequers  it- 
self into  a snake  Vhead,  and  secretes  in  the  deep  of  its  bell, 
drops,  not  of  venom  indeed,  but  honey-dew,  as  if  it  were  a 
healing  serpent.  For  there  is  an  ^sculapian®  as  well  as  an 
evil  serpentry  among  the  Draconidse,  and  the  fairest  of 
lo  them,  the  ^^erba  della  Madonna  of  Venice  (Linaria 
Cymbalaria),  descends  from  the  ruins  it  delights  in  to  the 
herbage  at  their  feet,  and  touches  it ; and  behold,  instantly, 
a vast  group  of  herbs  for  healing,  — all  draconid  in  form, 
— spotted  and  crested,  and  from  their  lip-like  corollas 
15  named  ^^labiatse  ° ; full  of  various  balm,  and  warm 
strength  for  healing,®  yet  all  of  them  without  splendid 
honor  or  perfect  beauty,  “ground  ivies, richest  when 
crushed  under  the  foot ; the  best  sweetness  and  gentle 
brightness  of  the  robes  of  the  field,  — thyme,  and  mar- 
20  joram,  and  Euphrasy. 

88.  And  observe,  again  and  again,  with  respect  to  all 
these  divisions  and  powers  of  plants:  it  does  not  matter 
in  the  least  by  what  concurrences  of  circumstance  or 
necessity  they  may  gradually  have  been  developed;  the 
25  concurrence  of  circumstance  is  itself  the  supreme  and  in- 
explicable fact.  We  always  come  at  last  to  a formative 
cause,  which  directs  the  circumstance,  and  mode  of  meet- 
ing it.  If  you  ask  an  ordinary  botanist®  the  reason  of 
the  form  of  a leaf,  he  will  tell  you  it  is  a “ developed  tuber- 
30  cle,^'  and  that  its  ultimate  form  “is  owing  to  the  directions 
of  its  vascular  threads. But  what  directs  its  vascular 
threads?  “They  are  seeking  for  something  they  want/' 
he  will  probably  answer.  What  made  them  want  that? 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EAliTH 


v.):> 

What  made  them  seek  for  it  thus?  Seek  for  it,  in  five 
fibres  or  in  three?  Seek  for  it,  in  serration,  or  in  vsweep- 
ing  curves?  Seek  for  it,  in  servile  tendrils,  or  impetuous 
spray?  Seek  for  it,  in  woollen  wrinkles  rough  with  stings, 
or  in  glossy  surfaces,  green  with  pure  strength,  and  winter-  5 
less  delight? 

89.  There  is  no  answer.  But  the  sum  of  all  is,  that  over 
the  entire  surface  of  the  earth,  and  its  waters,  as  influenced 
by  the  power  of  the  air  under  solar  light,  there  is  developed 

a series  of  changing  forms,  in  clouds,  plants,  and  animals,  ic 
all  of  whicn  have  reference  in  their  action,  or  nature,  to  the 
human  intelligence  that  perceives  them  ; and  on  which,  in 
their  aspects  of  horror  and  beauty,  and  their  qualities  of 
good  and  evil,  there  is  engraved  a series  of  myths,  or  words 
of  the  forming  power,  which,  according  to  the  true  passion  15 
and  energy  of  the  human  race,  they  have  been  enabled  to 
read  into  religion.  And  this  forming  power  has  been  by 
all  nations  partly  confused  with  the  breath  or  air  through 
which  it  acts,  and  partly  understood  as  a creative  wisdom, 
proceeding  from  the  Supreme  Deity ; but  entering  into  20 
and  inspiring  all  intelligences  that  work  in  harmony  with 
Him.  And  whatever  intellectual  results  may  be  in  mod- 
ern days  obtained  by  regarding  this  effluence  only  as  a 
motion  of  vibration,  every  formative  human  art  hitherto, 
and  the  best  states  of  human  happiness  and  order,  have  25 
depended  on  the  apprehension  of  its  mystery  (which  is 
certain),  and  of  its  personality,  which  is  probable. 

90.  Of  its  influence  on  the  formative  arts,  I have  a few 
words  to  say  separately : my  present  business  is  only  to 
interpret,  as  we  are  now  sufficiently  enabled  to  do,  the  ex-  30 
ternal  symbols  of  the  myth  under  which  it  was  represented 
by  the  Greeks  as  a goddess  of  counsel,  taken  first  into  the 
breast  of  their  supreme  Deity,  then  created  out  of  his 


196 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


thoughts,  and  abiding  closely  beside  him ; always  sharing 
and  consummating  his  power. 

91.  And  in  doing  this  we  have  first  to  note  the  meaning 
of  the  principal  epithet  applied  to  Athena,  ^‘Glaukopis,^^® 
5 ^^with  eyes  full  of  light,'^  the  first  syllable  being  connected, 
by  its  root,  with  words  signifying  sight,  not  with  words 
signifying  color.  As  far  as  I can  trace  the  color  percep- 
tion of  the  Greeks,  I find  it  all  founded  primarily  on  the 
degree  of  connection  between  color  and  light;  the  most 
lo  important  fact  to  them  in  the  color  of  red  being  its  con- 
nection with  fire  and  sunshine;  so  that  purple is,  in  its 
original  sense,  fire-color,'^  and  the  scarlet,  or  orange,  of 
dawn,  more  than  any  other  fire-color.  I was  long  puzzled 
by  Homer's  calling  the  sea  purple ; and  misled  into  think- 
15  ing  he  meant  the  color  of  cloud  shadows  on  green  sea; 
whereas  he  really  means  the  gleaming  blaze  of  the  waves 
under  wide  light.  Aristotle's®  idea  (partly  true)  is  that 
light,  subdued  by  blackness,  becomes  red ; and  blackness, 
heated  or  lighted,  also  becomes  red.  Thus,  a color  may 
20  be  called  purple  because  it  is  light  subdued  (and  so  death 
is  called  purple  " or  shadowy  " death) ; or  else  it  may  be 
called  purple  as  being  shade  kindled  with  fire,  and  thus 
said  of  the  lighted  sea ; or  even  of  the  sun  itself,  when  it  is 
thought  of  as  a red  luminary  opposed  to  the  whiteness 
25  of  the  moon:  ‘^purpureos  inter  soles,  et  Candida  lunae 

sidera® ; " or  of  golden  hair : pro  purpureo  poenam  solvens 

scelerata  capillo® ; " while  both  ideas  are  modified  by  the 
influence  of  an  earlier  form  of  the  word,  which  has  nothing 
to  do  with  fire  at  all,  but  only  with  mixing  or  staining ; and 
30  then,  to  make  the  whole  group  of  thoughts  inextricably 
complex,  yet  rich  and  subtle  in  proportion  to  their  in- 
tricacy, the  various  rose  and  crimson  colors  of  the  murex- 
dye,®  — the  crimson  and  purple  of  the  poppy,  and  fruit 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


197 


of  the  palm,  — and  the  association  of  all  these  with  the 
hue  of  blood,  — partly  direct,  partly  through  a confusion 
between  the  word  signifying  slaughter  and  palm-fruit 
color,’'  mingle  themselves  in,  and  renew  the  whole  nature 
of  the  old  word;  so  that,  in  later  literature,  it  means  a 5 
different  color,  or  emotion  of  color,  in  almost  every  place 
where  it  occurs ; and  casts  forever  around  the  reflection 
of  all  that  has  been  dipped  in  its  dyes. 

92.  So  that  the  word  is  really  a liquid  prism,  and  stream 
of  opal.  And  then,  last  of  all,  to  keep  the  whole  history  ig 
of  it  in  the  fantastic  course  of  a dream,  warped  here  and 
there  into  wild  grotesque,  we  moderns,  who  have  pre- 
ferred to  rule  over  coal-mines  instead  of  the  sea  (and  so 
have  turned  the  everlasting  lamp  of  Athena  into  a Davy’s 
safety-lamp®  in  the  hand  of  Britannia,  and  Athenian  15 
heavenly  lightning  into  British  subterranean  ^^damp”),® 
have  actually  got  our  purple  out  of  coal  instead  of  the  sea  ! 
And  thus,  grotesquely,  we  have  had  enforced  on  us  the 
doubt  that  held  the  old  word  between  blackness  and  fire, 
and  have  completed  the  shadow,  and  the  fear  of  it,  by  20 
giving  it  a name  from  battle,  Magenta.” 

93.  There  is  precisely  a similar  confusion  between  light 
and  color  in  the  word  used  for  the  blue  of  the  eyes  of 
Athena  — a noble  confusion,  however,  brought  about  by 
the  intensity  of  the  Greek  sense  that  the  heaven  is  light,  25 
more  than  it  is  blue.  I was  not  thinking  of  this  when  I 
wrote,  in  speaking  of  pictorial  chiaroscuro,®  The  sky  is  not 
blue  color  merely : it  is  blue  fire  and  cannot  be  painted  ” 
(Mod.  P.  iv.  p.  36) ; but  it  was  this  that  the  Greeks 
chiefly  felt  of  it,  and  so  ^^Glaukopis”  chiefly  means  gray- 3c 
eyed ; gray  standing  for  a pale  or  luminous  blue ; but  it 
only  means  ‘^owl-eyed”  in  thought  of  the  roundness 
and  expansion,  not  from  the  color;  this  breadth  and 


198 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


brightness  being,  again,  in  their  moral  sense  typical  of  the 
breadth,  intensity,  and  singleness  of  the  sight  in  prudence 
(^^if  thine  eye  be  single,  thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of 
light  ^0*^  Then  the  actual  power  of  the  bird  to  see  in  twi- 
5 light  enters  into  the  type,  and  perhaps  its  general  fineness 
of  sense.  ''Before  the  human  form  was  adopted,  her 
(Athena's)  proper  symbol  was  the  owl,  a bird  which 
seems  to  surpass  all  other  creatures  in  acuteness  of  organic 
perception,  its  eye  being  calculated  to  observe  objects 
lo  which  to  all  others  are  enveloped  in  darkness,  its  ear  to 
hear  sounds  distinctly,  and  its  nostrils  to  discriminate 
effluvia  with  such  nicety  that  it  has  been  deemed  pro- 
phetic, from  discovering  the  putridity  of  death  even  in  the 
first  stages  of  disease."  ^ 

15  I cannot  find  anywhere  an  account  of  the  first  known  oc- 
currence of  the  type ; but,  in  the  early  ones  oh  Attic  coins,  ° 
the  wide  round  eyes  are  clearly  the  principal  things  to  be 
made  manifest. 

94.  There  is  yet,  however,  another  color  of  great  im- 
20  portance  in  the  conception  of  Athena  — the  dark  blue  of 
her  aegis.  Just  as  the  blue  or  gray  of  her  eyes  was  con- 
ceived as  more  light  than  color,  so  her  aegis  was  dark  blue, 
because  the  Greeks  thought  of  this  tint  more  as  shade  than 
color,  and,  w'hile  they  used  various  materials  in  ornamenta- 
25  tion,  lapislazuli,®  carbonate  of  copper,  or,  perhaps,  smalt,® 
with  real  enjoyment  of  the  blue  tint,  it  was  yet  in  their 
minds  as  distinctly  representative  of  darkness  as  scarlet 
was  of  light,  and,  therefore,  anything  dark,^  but  especially 

1 Payne  Knight®  in  his  Inquiry  into  the  Symbolical  Language 
30  of  Ancient  Art/’  not  trustworthy,  being  little  more  than  a mass  of 

conjectural  memoranda,  but  the  heap  is  suggestive,  if  well  sifted. 

2 In  the  breastplate  and  shield  of  Atrides®  the  serpents  and 
bosses  are  all  of  this  dark  color,  yet  the  serpents  are  said  to  bo 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


199 


the  color  of  heavy  thunder-cloud,  was  described  by  the 
same  term.  The  physical  power  of  this  darkness  of  the 

like  rainbows;  but  through  all  this  splendor  and  opposition  of 
hue,  I feel  distinctly  that  the  literal  splendor,’’  with  its  relative 
shade,  are  prevalent  in  the  conception ; and  that  there  is  always  a 5 
tendency  to  look  through  the  hue  to  its  cause.  And  in  this  feel- 
ing about  color  the  Greeks  are  separated  from  the  eastern  nations, 
and  from  the  best  designers  of  Christian  times.  I cannot  find 
that  they  take  pleasure  in  color  for  its  own  sake;  it  may  be  in 
something  more  than  color,  or  better;  but  it  is  not  in  the  hue  it-  lo  • 
self.  When  Homer  describes  cloud  breaking  from  a mountain 
summit,  the  crags  become  visible  in  light,  not  in  color;  he  feels 
only  their  flashing  out  in  bright  edges  and  trenchant  shadows; 
above,  the  ^^nfinite,”  ^^unspeakable”  aether  is  torn  open  — but 
not  the  blue  of  it.  He  has  scarcely  any  abstract  pleasure  in  blue,  1 5 
or  green,  or  gold ; but  only  in  their  shade  or  flame. 

I have  yet  to  trace  the  causes  of  this  (which  will  be  a long  task, 
belonging  to  art  questions,  not  to  mythological  ones) ; but  it  is, 

I believe,  much  connected  with  the  brooding  of  the  shadow  of 
death  over  the  Greeks  without  any  clear  hope  of  immortality.  20 
The  restriction  of  the  color  on  their  vases  to  dim  red  (or  yellow) 
with  black  and  white,  is  greatly  connected  with  their  sepulchral 
use,  and  with  all  the  melancholy  of  Greek  tragic  thought ; and  in 
this  gloom  the  failure  of  color-perception  is  partly  noble,  partly 
base : noble,  in  its  earnestness,  which  raises  the  design  of  Greek  2 5 
vases  as  far  above  the  designing  of  mere  colorist  nations  like  the 
Chinese,  as  men’s  thoughts  are  above  children’s;  and  yet  it  is 
partly  base  and  earthly,  and  inherently  defective  in  one  human 
faculty;  and  I believe  it  was  one  cause  of  the  perishing  of  their 
art  so  swiftly,  for  indeed  there  is  no  decline  so  sudden,  or  down  30 
to  such  utter  loss  and  ludicrous  depravity,  as  the  fall  of  Greek 
design  on  its  vases  from  the  fifth  to  the  third  century  B.C.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  pure  colored-gift,  when  employed  for  pleasure 
only,  degrades  in  another  direction;  so  that  among  the  Indians, 
Chinese,  and  Japanese  all  intellectual  progress  in  art  has  been  35 
for  ages  rendered  impossible  by  the  prevalence  of  that  faculty; 
and  3’^et  it  is,  as  I have  said  again  and  again,  the  spiritual  power 
of  art ; and  its  true  brightness  is  the  essential  characteristic  of  all 
healthy  schools. 


200 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


segis,  fringed  with  lightning,  is  given  quite  simply  when 
Jupiter  himself  uses  it  to  overshadow  Ida  and  the 
Plain  of  Troy,°  and  withdraws  it  at  the  prayer  of  Ajax° 
for  light;  and  again  when  he  grants  it  to  be  worn  for  a 
5 time  by  Apollo,  who  is  hidden  by  its  cloud  when  he  strikes 
down  Patroclus;  but  its  spiritual  power  is  chiefly  ex- 
pressed by  a word  signifying  deeper  shadow,  — the  gloom 
of  Erebus,  ° or  of  our  evening,  which  when  spoken  of  the 
segis,  signifies,  not  merely  the  indignation  of  Athena,  but 
* lo  the  entire  hiding  or  withdrawal  of  her  help,  and  beyond 
even  this,  her  deadliest  of  all  hostility,  — the  darkness  by 
w^hich  she  herself  deceives  and  beguiles  to  final  ruin  those 
to  whom  she  is  wholly  adverse ; this  contradiction  of  her 
own  glory  being  the  uttermost  judgment  upon  human 
15  falsehood.  Thus  it  is  she  who  provokes  Pandarus°  to 
the  treachery  which  purposed  to  fulfil  the  rape  of  Helen® 
by  the  murder  of  her  husband  in  time  of  truce ; and  then 
the  Greek  king,  holding  his  wounded  brother’s  hand, 
prophesies  against  Troy  the  darkness  of  the  aegis  which 
20  shall  be  over  all  and  forever.^ 

95.  This,  then,  finally,  was  the  perfect  color-conception 
of  Athena : the  flesh,  snow-white  (the  hands,  feet,  and  face 
of  marble,  even  when  the  statue  was  hewm  roughly  in 
wood) ; the  eyes  of  keen  pale  blue,  often  in  statues  repre- 
25  sented  by  jewels ; the  long  robe  to  the  feet,  crocus-colored  ; 
and  the  aegis  thrown  over  it  of  thunderous  purple;  the 
helmet  golden  (II.  v.  744),  and  I suppose  its  crest  also,  as 
that  of  Achilles. 

If  you  think  carefully  of  the  meaning  and  character 
30  which  is  now  enough  illustrated  for  you  in  each  of  these 
colors,  and  remember  that  the  crocus-color  and  the  purple 

^ ipejxt'rjv  Aiyida  ttclctl.  — II.  iv.  166. 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH 


201 


were  both  of  them  developments,  in  opposite  directions, 
of  the  great  central  idea  of  fire-color,  or  scarlet,  you  will 
see  that  this  form  of  the  creative  spirit  of  the  earth  is  con- 
ceived as  robed  in  the  blue,  and  purple,  and  scarlet,  the 
white,  and  the  gold,  which  have  been  recognized  for  the  5 
sacred  chords  of  colors,  from  the  day  when  the  cloud 
descended  on  a Rock  more  mighty  than  Ida. 

96.  I have  spoken  throughout,  hitherto,  of  the  concep- 
tion of  Athena,  as  it  is  traceable  in  the  Greek  mind ; not 
as  it  was  rendered  by  Greek  art.  It  is  matter  of  extreme  10 
difficulty,  requiring  a sympathy  at  once  affectionate  and 
cautious,  and  a knowledge  reaching  the  earliest  springs  of 
the  religion  of  many  lands,  to  discern  through  the  imper- 
fection, and,  alas  ! more  dimly  yet,  through  the  triumphs, 
of  formative  art,  what  kind  of  thoughts  they  were  that  ap-  15 
pointed  for  it  the  tasks  of  its  childhood,  and  watched  by 
the  awakening  of  its  strength. 

The  religious  passion  is  nearly  always  vividest  when 
the  art  is  weakest ; and  the  technical  skill  only  reaches  its 
deliberate  splendor  when  the  ecstasy  which  gave  it  birth  20 
has  passed  away  forever.®  It  is  as  vain  an  attempt  to 
reason  out  the  visionary  power  or  guiding  influence  of 
Athena  in  the  Greek  heart,  from  anything  we  now  read, 
or  possess,  of  the  work  of  Phidias,®  as  it  would  be  for  the 
disciples  of  some  new  religion  to  infer  the  spirit  of  Chris-  25 
tianity  from  Titian ^s  Assumption.’^  The  effective  vital- 
ity of  the  religious  conception  can  be  traced  only  through 
the  efforts  of  trembling  hands,  and  strange  pleasures  of 
untaught  eyes ; and  the  beauty  of  the  dream  can  no  more 
be  found  in  the  first  symbols  by  which  it  is  expressed,  than  30 
a child’s  idea  of  fairyland  can  be  gathered  from  its  pencil 
scrawl,  or  a girl’s  love  for  her  broken  doll  explained  by 
the  defaced  features.  On  the  other  band,  the  Athena  of 


202 


THE  QVEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


Phidias  was,  in  very  fact,  not  so  much  the  deity,  as  the 
darling,  of  the  Athenian  people.  Her  magnificence  repre 
sented  their  pride  and  fondness,  more  than  their  piety; 
and  the  great  artist,  in  lavishing  upon  her  dignities  which 
5 might  be  ended  abruptly  by  the  pillage  they  provoked, 
resigned,  apparently  without  regret,  the  awe  of  her  ancient 
memory;  and  (with  only  the  careless  remonstrance  of  a 
workman  too  strong  to  be  proud)  even  the  perfectness  of 
his  own  art.  Rejoicing  in  the  protection  of  their  goddess, 
lo  and  in  their  own  hour  of  glory,  the  people  of  Athena  robed 
her,  at  their  will,  with  the  preciousness  of  ivory  and  gems ; 
forgot  or  denied  the  darkness  of  the  breastplate  of  judg- 
ment, and  vainly  bade  its  unappeasable  serpents  relax  their 
coils  in  gold. 

15  97.  It  will  take  me  many  a day  yet  — if  days,  many  or 

few,  are  given  me  — to  disentangle  in  anywise  the  proud 
and  practised  disguises  of  religious  creeds  from  the  instinc- 
tive arts  v/hich,  grotescjuely  and  indecorously,  yet  with 
sincerity,  strove  to  embody  them,  or  to  relate.  But  I 
20  think  the  reader,  by  help  even  of  the  imperfect  indications 
already  given  to  him,  will  be  able  to  follow,  with  a continu- 
ally increasing  security,  the  vestiges  of  the  Myth  of  Athena ; 
and  to  reanimate  its  almost  evanescent  shade,  by  connect- 
ing it  with  the  now  recognized  facts  of  existent  nature 
25  which  it,  more  or  less  dimly,  reflected  and  foretold.  I 
gather  these  facts  together  in  brief  sum. 

98.  The  deep  of  air  that  surrounds  the  earth  enters  into 
union  with  the  earth  at  its  surface,  and  with  its  waters, 
so  as  to  be  the  apparent  cause  of  their  ascending  into  life. 
30  First,  it  warms  them,  and  shades,  at  once,  staying  the  heat 
of  the  sun’s  rays  in  its  own  body,  but  warding  their  force 
with  its  clouds.  It  warms  and  cools  at  once,  with  traffic 
of  l)alm  and  frost  ; so  (hat  the  white  wreaths  are  with- 


ATHENA  IN  THE  EARTH  2():> 

drawn  from  the  field  of  the  Swiss  peasant  by  the  glow  of 
Libyan®  rock.  It  gives  its  own  strength  to  the  sea  ; forms 
and  fills  every  cell  of  its  foam;  sustains  the  precipices, 
and  designs  the  valleys  of  its  waves ; gives  the  gleam  to 
their  moving  under  the  night,  and  the  white  fire  to  their  5 
plains  under  sunrise;  lifts  their  voices  along  the  rocks, 
bears  above  them  the  spray  of  birds,  pencils  through  them 
the  dimpling  of  unfooted  sands.  It  gathers  out  of  them  a 
portion  in  the  hollow  of  its  hand : dyes,  with  that,  the 
hills  into  dark  blue,  and  their  glaciers  with  dying  rose ; ic 
inlays  with  that,  for  sapphire,  the  dome  in  which  it  has  to 
set  the  cloud ; shapes  out  of  that  the  heavenly  flocks : di- 
vides them,  numbers,  cherishes,  bears  them  on  its  bosom, 
calls  them  to  their  journeys,  waits  by  their  rest ; feeds 
from  them  the  brooks  that  cease  not,  and  strews  with  them  15 
the  dews  that  cease.  It  spins  and  weaves  their  fleece  into 
wild  tapestry,  rends  it,  and  renews ; and  flits  and  flames, 
and  whispers,  among  the  golden  threads,  thrilling  them 
with  a plectrum®  of  strange  Are  that  traverses  them  to  and 
fro,  and  is  enclosed  in  them  like  life.  20 

It  enters  into  the  surface  of  the  earth,  subdues  it,  and 
falls  together  with  it  into  fruitful  dust,  from  which  can  be 
moulded  flesh ; it  joins  itself,  in  dew,  to  the  substance  of 
adamant,  and  becomes  the  green  leaf  out  of  the  dry 
ground ; it  enters  into  the  separated  shapes  of  the  earth  25 
it  has  tempered,  commands  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  current 
of  their  life,  fills  their  limbs  with  its  own  lightness,  meas- 
ures their  existence  by  its  indwelling  pulse,  moulds  upon 
their  lips  the  words  by  which  one  soul  can  be  known  to 
another ; is  to  them  the  hearing  of  the  ear,  and  the  beating  30 
of  the  heart ; and,  passing  away,  leaves  them  to  the  peace 
that  hears  and  moves  no  more. 

99.  This  was  the  Athena  of  the  greatest  people  of  the 


204 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


days  of  old.  And  opposite  to  the  temple  of  this  Spirit  of 
the  breath,  and  life-blood,  of  man  and  of  beast,  stood, 
on  the  Mount  of  Justice,  and  near  the  chasm  which  \vas 
haunted  by  the  goddess- Avengers,  an  altar  to  a God  un- 
5 known,®  — proclaimed  at  last  to  them,  as  one  who,  in- 
deed, gave  to  ail  men,  life,  and  breath,  and  all  things ; 
and  rain  from  heaven,  filling  their  hearts  with  food  and 
gladness ; a God  who  had  made  of  one  blood  all  nations  of 
men  who  dwell  on  the  face  of  all  the  earth,®  and  had  deter- 
lo  mined  the  times  of  their  fate,  and  the  bounds  of  their 
habitation. 

100.  We  ourselves,  fretted  here  in  our  narrow  days, 
know  less,  perhaps,  in  very  deed,  than  they,  what  manner 
of  spirit  we  are  of,  or  what  manner  of  spirit  we  ignorantly 
15  worship.  Have  we,  indeed,  desired  the  Desire  of  all 
nations  ? and  will  the  Master  whom  we  meant  to  seek,  and 
the  Messenger  in  whom  we  thought  we  delighted,  confirm, 
when  He  comes  to  His  temple,  — or  not  find  in  its  midst, — 
the  tables  heavy  with  gold  for  bread,  and  the  seats  that 
20  are  bought  with  the  price  of  the  dove®  ? Or  is  our  own 
land  also  to  be  left  by  its  angered  Spirit,  — left  among 
those,  where  sunshine  vainly  sweet,  and  passionate  folly 
of  storm,  waste  themselves  in  the  silent  places  of  knowledge 
that  has  passed  away,  and  of  tongues  that  have  ceased? 
25  This  only  we  may  discern  assuredly : this,  every  true  light 
of  science,  every  mercifully-granted  power,  every  wisely- 
restricted  thought,  teach  us  more  clearly  day  by  day,  that 
in  the  heavens  above,  and  the  earth  beneath,  there  is  one 
continual  and  omnipotent  presence  of  help,  and  of  peace, 
30  for  all  men  who  know  that  they  live,  and  remember  that 
they  die. 


r 


III 

ATHENA  ERGANEi 
{Athena  in  the  Heart) 

VARIOUS  NOTES  RELATING  TO  THE  CONCEPTION  OF  ATHENA 
AS  THE  DIRECTRESS  OF  THE  IMAGINATION  AND  WILL 

101.  I HAVE  now  only  a few  words  to  say,  bearing  on 
what  seems  to  me  present  need,  respecting  the  third 
function  of  Athena,  conceived  as  the  directress  of  human 
passion,  resolution,  and  labor. 

Few  words,  for  I am  not  yet  prepared  to  give  accurate  5 
distinction  between  the  intellectual  rule  of  Athena  and 
that  of  the  Muses;  but,  broadly,  the  Muses,  with  their 
king,  preside  over  meditative,  historical,  and  poetic  arts, 
whose  end  is  the  discovery  of  light  or  truth,  and  the  crea- 
tion of  beauty ; but  Athena  rules  over  moral  passion,  and  ic 
practically  useful  art.  She  does  not  make  men  learned, 
but  prudent  and  subtle ; she  does  not  teach  them  to  make 
their  work  beautiful,  but  to  make  it  right. 

In  different  places  of  my  writings,  and  through  many 
years  of  endeavor  to  define  the  laws  of  art,  I have  insisted  15 
on  this  rightness  in  work,  and  on  its  connection  with 
virtue  of  character,  in  so  many  partial  ways,  that  the 

^ ‘^Athena  the  worker,  or  having  rule  over  work/’ 
was  first  given  to  her  by  the  Athenians. 

205 


The  name 


206 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


impression  left  on  the  reader^s  mind  — if,  indeed,  it  was 
ever  impressed  at  all  — has  been  confused  and  uncertain. 
In  beginning  the  series  of  my  corrected  works,  I wish  this 
principle  (in  my  own  mind  the  foundation  of  every  other)  to 
5 be  made  plain,  if  nothing  else  is ; and  will  try,  therefore,  to 
make  it  so,  as  far  as,  by  any  effort,  I can  put  it  into  un- 
mistakable words.  And,  first,  here  is  a ver\^  simpb  state- 
ment of  it,  given  lately  in  a lecture  on  the  Architecture 
of  the  Valley  of  the  Somme,®  which  will  be  better  read  in 
lo  this  place  than  in  its  incidental  connection  with  my  account 
of  the  porches  of  Abbeville. 

102.  I had  used,  in  a preceding  part  of  the  lecture,  the 
expression,  “by  what  faults'^  this  Gothic  architecture  fell. 
We  continually  speak  thus  of  works  of  art.  We  talk  of 
15  their  faults  and  merits,  as  of  virtues  and  vices.  What  do 
we  mean  by  talking  of  the  faults  of  a picture,  or  the  merits 
of  a piece  of  stone? 

The  faults  of  a work  of  art  are  the  faults  of  its  workman, 
and  its  virtues  his  virtues.® 

20  Great  art  is  the  expression  of  the  mind  of  a great  man, 
and  mean  art,  that  of  the  want  of  mind  of  a weak  man.  A 
foolish  person  builds  foolishly,  and  a wise  one.  sensibly® ; 
a virtuous  one,  beautifull)^ ; and  a vicious  one,  basely. 
If  stone  work  is  well  put  together,  it  means  that  a thought- 
25  ful  man  planned  it,  and  a careful  man  cut  it,  and  an  honest 
man  cemented  it.  If  it  has  too  much  ornament,  it  means 
that  its  carver  was  too  greedy  of  pleasure;  if  too  little, 
that  he  was  rude,  or  insensitive,  or  stupid,  and  the  like. 
So  that  when  once  you  have  learned  how  to  spell  these 
30  most  precious  of  all  legends,  — pictures  and  buildings, — 
you  may  read  the  characters  of  men,  and  of  nations,  in 
their  art,  as  in  a mirror ; nay,  as  in  a micros(‘ope,  and 
magnified  a hundredfold;  for  the  character  becomes  j)as- 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


207 


sionate  in  the  art,  and  intensifies  itself  in  all  its  noldest  or 
meanest  delights.  Nay,  not  onhr  as  in  a microscope,  hut 
as  under  a scalpel,  and  in  dissection ; for  a man  may  hide 
himself  from  you,  or  misrepresent  himself  to  you,  every 
other  way ; but  he  cannot  in  his  work  : there,  be  sure,  you  5 
have  him  to  the  inmost.  All  that  he  likes,  all  that  he  sees, 

— all  that  he  can  do,  — his  imagination,  his  affections,  his 
perseverance,  his  impatience,  his  clumsiness,  cleverness, 
everything  is  there.  If  the  work  is  a cobweb,  you  know 
it  was  made  by  a spider ; if  a honey-comb,  by  a bee ; a 10 
wormcast  is  thrown  up  by  a worm,  and  a nest  wreathed 
by  a bird ; and  a house  built  by  a man,  worthily,  if  he  is 
worthy,  and  ignobly,  if  he  is  ignoble. 

And  always,  from  the  least  to  the  greatest,  as  the  made 
thing  is  good  or  bad,  so  is  the  maker  of  it.  15 

103.  You  all  use  this  faculty  of  judgment  more  or  less, 
whether  you  theoretically  admit  the  principle  or  not. 
Take  that  floral  gable  you  don't  suppose  the  man  who 
built  Stonehenge®  could  have  built  that,  or  that  the  man 
who  built  that,  would  have  built  Stonehenge  ? Do  you  20 
think  an  old  Roman  would  have  liked  such  a piece  of 
filigree  work?  or  that  Michael  Angelo®  would  have  spent 
his  time  in  twisting  these  stems  of  roses  in  and  out? 
Or,  of  modern  handicraftsmen,  do  you  think  a burglar,  or 
a brute,  or  a pickpocket  could  have  carved  it  ? Could  25 
Bill  Sykes®  ha^^e  done  it?  or  the  Dodger,  dexterous  with 
finger  and  tool?  You  will  find  in  the  end,  that  no  man 
could  have  done  it  hut  exactly  the  man  who  did  it;  and  by 
looking  close  at  it,  you  may,  if  you  know  your  letters,  read 
precisely  the  manner  of  man  he  was.  30 

^ The  elaborate  pediment  above  the  central  porch  at  the  west 
end  of  Rouen  Cathedral,®  pierced  into  a transparent  web  of 
tracery,  and  enriched  with  a border  of  ‘^twisted  eglantine.” 


20b 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


104.  Now  I must  insist  on  this  matter,  for  a grave 
reason.  Of  all  facts  concerning  art,  this  is  the  one  most 
necessary  to  be  known,  that,  while  manufacture  is  the 
work  of  hands  only,  art  is  the  work  of  the  whole  spirit  of 

5 man ; and  as  that  spirit  is,  so  is  the  deed  of  it ; and  by 
whatever  power  of  vice  or  virtue  any  art  is  produced, 
the  same  vice  or  virtue  it  reproduces  and  teaches.  That 
which  is  born  of  evil  begets  eviP ; and  that  which  is  born 
of  valor  and  honor,  teaches  valor  and  honor.  All  art  is 
10  either  infection  or  education.  It  must  be  one  or  other  of 
these. 

105.  This,  I repeat,  of  all  truths  respecting  art,  is  the  one 
of  which  understanding  is  the  most  precious,  and  denial 
the  most  deadly.  And  I assert  it  the  more,  because  it  has 

15  of  late  been  repeatedly,  expressly,  and  with  contumely, 
denied,  and  that  by  high  authority ; and  I hold  it  one  of 
the  most  sorrowful  facts  connected  with  the  decline  of  the 
arts  among  us,  that  English  gentlemen,  of  high  standing 
as  scholars  and  artists,  should  have  been  blinded  into  the 
20  acceptance,  and  betrayed  into  the  assertion,  of  a fallacy 
which  only  authority  such  as  theirs  could  have  rendered 
for  an  instant  credible.  For  the  contrary  of  it  is  written 
in  the  history  of  all  great  nations ; it  is  the  one  sentence 
always  inscribed  on  the  steps  of  their  thrones  ; the  one  con- 
25  cordant  voice  in  which  they  speak  to  us  out  of  their  dust. 

All  such  nations  first  manifest  themselves  as  a pure  and 
beautiful  animal  race,  with  intense  energy  and  imagina- 
tion. They  live  lives  of  hardship  by  choice,  and  b}"  grand 
instinct  of  manly  discipline ; they  become  fierce  and  ir- 
30  resistible  soldiers ; the  nation  is  always  its  own  army, 
and  their  king,  or  chief  head  of  government,  is  always  their 
first  soldier.  Pharaoh,  or  David,  or  Leonidas,  or  \’alerius, 
or  Barbarossa,  or  Coeur  de  Lion,  or  St.  Louis,  or  Dandolo, 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


' 209 


or  Frederick  the  Great,  — Egyptian,  Jew,  Greek,  Roman, 
German,  English,  French,  Venetian, ° — that  is  inviolable 
law  for  them  all;  their  king  must  be  their  first  soldier, 
or  they  cannot  be  in  progressive  power.  Then,  after  their 
great  military  period,  comes  the  domestic  period ; in  5 
which,  without  betraying  the  discipline  of  war,  they  add 
to  their  great  soldiership  the  delights  and  possessions  of  a 
delicate  and  tender  home-life ; and  then,  for  all  nations,  is 
the  time  of  their  perfect  art,  which  is  the  fruit,  the  evi- 
dence,' the  reward  of  their  national  ideal  of  character,  ig 
developed  by  the  finished  care  of  the  occupations  of  peace. 
That  is  the  history  of  all  true  art  that  ever  was,  or  can 
be  ; palpably  the  history  of  it,  — unmistakably,  — written 
on  the  forehead  of  it  in  letters  of  light,  in  tongues  of 
fire,  by  which  the  seal  of  virtue  is  branded  as  deep  as  ever  1 5 
iron  burnt  into  a convict ^s  flesh  the  seal  of  crime.  But 
always,  hitherto,  after  the  great  period,  has  followed  the 
day  of  luxury,  and  pursuit  of  the  arts  for  pleasure  only. 
And  all  has  so  ended. 

106.°  Thus  far  of  Abbeville  building.  Now  I have  20 
here  asserted  two  things,  — first,  the  foundation  of  art  in 
moral  character ; next,  the  foundation  of  moral  character 
in  war.  I must  make  both  these  assertions  clearer,  and 
prove  them. 

First,  of  the  foundation  of  art  in  moral  character.  Of  25 
course  art-gift  and  amiability  of  disposition  are  two  differ- 
ent things;  for  a good  man  is  not  necessarily  a painter, 
nor  does  an  eye  for  color  necessarily  imply  an  honest  mind. 
But  great  art  implies  the  union  of  both  powers ; it  is  the 
expression,  by  an  art-gift,  of  a pure  soul.  If  the  gift  is  not  30 
there,  we  can  have  no  art  at  all ; and  if  the  soul  — and  a 
riaht  soul  too  — is  not  there,  the  art  is  bad.  however 
dexterous. 


p 


210 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


107.  But  also,  remember,  that  the  art -gift  itself  is  onh 
the  result  of  the  moral  character  of  generations.  A bad 
woman  may  have  a sweet  voice;  but  that  sweetness  of 
voice  comes  of  the  past  morality  of  her  race.  That  she 

5 can  sing  with  it  at  all,  she  owes  to  the  determination  of  laws 
of  music  by  the  morality  of  the  past.  Every  act,  every 
impulse,  of  virtue  and  vice,  affects  in  any  creature,  face, 
voice,  nervous  power,  and  vigor  and  harmony  of  invention, 
at  once.  Perseverance  in  rightness  of  human  conduct 
10  renders,  after  a certain  number  of  generations,  human  art 
possible ; every  sin  clouds  it,  be  it  ever  so  little  a one ; 
and  persistent  vicious  living  and  following  of  pleasure 
render,  after  a certain  number  of  generations,  all  art  im- 
possible. Men  are  deceived  by  the  long-suffering  of  the 
15  laws  of  nature,  and  mistake,  in  a nation,  the  reward  of  the 
virtue  of  its  sires,  for  the  issue  of  its  own  sins.  The  time 
of  their  visitation  will  come,  and  that  inevitably ; for  it  is 
always  true,  that  if  the  fathers  have  eaten  sour  grapes, 
the  children's  teeth  are  set  on  edge.®  And  for  the  indi- 
20  vidual,  as  soon  as  you  have  learned  to  read,  you  may,  as  I 
said,  know  him  to  the  heart’s  core,  through  his  art.  Let 
his  art-gift  be  never  so  great,  and  cultivated  to  the  height 
by  the  schools  of  a great  race  of  men,  and  it  is  still  but  a 
tapestry  thrown  over  his  own  being  and  inner  soul;  and 
25  the  bearing  of  it  will  show,  infallibly,  whether  it  hangs  on 
a man  or  on  a skeleton.  If  you  are  dim-eyed,  you  may  not 
see  the  difference  in  the  fall  of  the  folds  at  first,  but  learn 
how  to  look,  and  the  folds  themselves  will  become  trans- 
parent, and  you  shall  see  through  them  the  death’s  shape, 
30  or  the  divine  one,  making  the  tissue  above  it  as  a cloud  of 
light,  or  as  a winding-sheet. 

108.  Thenfurther,  observe,  I have  said  (and  you  will  find 
it  (rue,  and  that  to  the  uttermost)  that,  as  all  lov('ly  art  is 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


211 


rooted  in  virtue,  so  it  bears  fruit  of  virtue,  and  is  didactic 
in  its  own  nature.  It  is  often  didactic  also  in  actually  ex- 
pressed thought,  as  Giotto^s,°  Michael  Angelovs,  Diirer’s,® 
and  hundreds  more;  but  that  is  not  its  special  function; 
it  is  didactic  chiefly  by  being  beautiful ; but  beautiful  with  5 
haunting  thought,  no  less  than  with  form,  and  full  of 
myths  that  can  be  read  only  with  the  heart. 

For  instance,  at  this  moment  there  is  open  beside  me 
as  I write,  a page  of  Persian  manuscript,  wrought  with 
wreathed  azure  and  gold,  and  soft  green,  and  violet,  and  10 
ruby  and  scarlet,  into  one  field  of  pure  resplendence.  It  is 
wrought  to  delight  the  eyes  only ; and  does  delight  them ; 
and  the  man  who  did  it  assuredly  had  eyes  in  his  head; 
but  not  much  more.  It  is  not  didactic  art,  but  its  author 
was  happy ; and  it  will  do  the  good,  and  the  harm,  that  1 5 
mere  pleasure  can  do.  But,  opposite  me,  is  an  early 
Turner  drawing  of  the  lake  of  Geneva,  taken  about  two 
miles  from  Geneva,  on  the  I^ausanne  road,  with  Mont 
Blanc®  in  the  distance.  The  old  city  is  seen  lying  beyond 
the  waveless  waters,  veiled  with  a sweet  misty  veil  of  20 
Athena ^s  weaving ; a faint  light  of  morning,  peaceful  ex- 
ceedingly, and  almost  colorless,  shed  from  behind  the  Voi- 
rons,®  increases  into  soft  amber  along  the  slope  of  the 
Saleve,  and  is  just  seen,  and  no  more,  on  the  fair  warm 
fields  of  its  summit,  between  the  folds  of  a white  cloud  25 
that  rests  upon  the  grass,  but  rises,  high  and  tower-like, 
into  the  zenith  of  dawn  above. 

109.  There  is  not  as  much  color  in  that  low  amber  light 
upon  the  hill-side  as  there  is  in  the  palest  dead  leaf.  The 
lake  is  not  blue,  but  gray  in  mist,  passing  into  deep  shadow  30 
beneath  the  Voirons^®  pines ; a few  dark  clusters  of  leaves, 
a single  white  flower,  — scarcely  seen, — are  all  the  glad- 
ness given  to  the  rocks  of  the  shore.  One  of  the  ruby 


212 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


spots  of  the  eastern  manuscript  would  give  color  enough 
for  all  the  red  that  is  in  Turner ^s  entire  drawing.  For 
the  mere  pleasure  of  the  eye,  there  is  not  so  much  in  all 
those  lines  of  his,  throughout  the  entire  landscape,  as  in 
5 half  an  inch  square  of  the  Persian's  page.  What  made 
him  take  pleasure  in  the  low  color  that  is  only  like  the 
brown  of  a dead  leaf  ? in  the  cold  gray  of  dawn  — in  the 
one  white  flower  among  the  rocks  — in  these  — and  no 
more  than  these  ? 

lo  110.  He  took  pleasure  in  them  because  he  had  been 
bred  among  English  fields  and  hills ; because  the  gentleness 
of  a great  race  was  in  his  heart,  and  its  powers  of  thought  in 
his  brain ; because  he  knew  the  stories  of  the  Alps,  and  of 
the  cities  at  their  feet ; because  he  had  read  the  Homeric 
15  legends  of  the  clouds,  and  beheld  the  gods  of  dawn,  and 
the  givers  of  dew  to  the  fields ; because  he  knew  the  faces 
of  the  crags,  and  the  imagery  of  the  passionate  mountains, 
as  a man  knows  the  face  of  his  friend ; because  he  had  in 
him  the  wonder  and  sorrow  concerning  life  and  death, 
20  which  are  the  inheritance  of  the  Gothic  soul  from  the  days 
of  its  first  sea  kings®;  and  also  the  compassion  and  the 
joy  that  are  woven  into  the  innermost  fabric  of  every 
great  imaginative  spirit,  born  now  in  countries  that  have 
lived  by  the  Christian  faith  with  any  courage  or  truth. 
25  And  the  picture  contains  also,  for  us,  just  this  which  its 
maker  had  in  him  to  give;  and  can  conve}^  it  to  us,  just 
so  far  as  we  are  of  the  temper  in  which  it  must  be  received. 
It  is  didactic  if  we  are  worthy  to  be  taught,  not  otherwise. 
The  pure  heart  it  vvill  make  more  pure®;  the  thoughtful, 
30  more  thoughtful.  It  has  in  it  no  words  for  the  reckless  or 
the  base. 

111.  As  I myself  look  at  it,  there  is  no  fault  nor  folly 
of  my  life  — and  both  have  been  many  and  great  — that 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


213 


does  not  rise  up  against  me,  and  take  away  my  joy,  and 
shorten  my  power  of  possession  of  sight,  of  understanding. 
And  every  past  effort  of  my  life,  every  gleam  of  rightness 
or  good  in  it,  is  with  me  now,  to  help  me  in  my  grasp  of  this 
art,  and  its  vision.  So  far  as  I can  rejoice  in,  or  interpret  5 
either,  my  power  is  owing  to  what  of  right  there  is  in  me. 

I dare  to  say  it,  that,  because  through  all  my  life  I have 
desired  good,  and  not  evil;  because  I have  been  kind 
to  many;  have  wished  to  be  kind  to  all;  have  wilfully 
injured  none;  and  because  I have  loved  much,  and  ic 
not  selfishly;  therefore,  the  morning  light  is  yet  visible 
to  me  on  those  hills,  and  you,  who  read,  may  trust  my 
thought  and  word  in  such  work  as  I have  to  do  for  you ; 
and  you  will  be  glad  afterwards  that  you  have  trusted 
them.  15 

112.  Yet,  remember,  — I repeat  it  again  and  yet  again, 

— that  I may  for  once,  if  possible,  make  this  thing  as- 
suredly clear : the  inherited  art-gift  must  be  there,  as  well 
as  the  life  in  some  poor  measure,  or  rescued  fragment, 
right.  This  art-gift  of  mine  could  not  have  been  v;on  by  20 
any  work  or  by  any  conduct : it  belongs  to  me  by  birthright, 
and  came  by  A thenars  will,  from  the  air  of  English  country 
villages,  and  Scottish  hills.  I will  risk  whatever  charge 
of  folly  may  come  on  me,  for  printing  one  of  my  many 
childish  rhymes,  written  on  a frosty  day  in  Glen  Farg,  just  25 
north  of  Loch  Leven.  It  bears  date  1st  January,  1828. 

I was  born  on  the  8th  of  February,  1819 ; and  all  that  I ever 
could  be,  and  all  that  t cannot  be,  the  weak  little  rhyme 
already  shows. 

Papa,  how  pretty  those  icicles  are, 

That  are  seen  so  near,  — that  are  seen  so  far ; 

— Those  dropping  waters  that  come  from  the  rocks 

And  many  a hole,  like  the  haunt  of  a fox. 


30 


214 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


That  silvery  stream  that  runs  babbling:  along, 

Making  a murmuring,  dancing  song. 

Those  trees  that  stand  waving  upon  the  rock’s  side, 
And  men,  that,  like  spectres,  among  them  glide. 

5 And  waterfalls  that  are  heard  from  far, 

And  come  in  sight  when  very  near. 

And  the  water-wheel  that  turns  slowly  round. 

Grinding  the  corn  .that  — requires  to  be  ground,  — 

(Political  Economy  of  the  future  !) 

TO  And  mountains  at  a distance  seen. 

And  rivers  winding  through  the  plain. 

And  quarries  with  their  craggy  stones, 

And  the  wind  among  them  moans.” 

So  foretelling  Stones  of  Venice, ° and  this  essay  on  Athena. 
15  Enough  novv  concerning  myself. 

113.  Of  Turner’s  life,  and  of  its  good  and  evil,  both 
great,  but  the  good  immeasurably  the  greater,  his  work 
is  in  all  things  a perfect  and  transparent  evidence.  His 
biography  is  simply,  ^‘He  did  this,  nor  will  ever  another  do 

20  its  like  again.”  Yet  read  what  I have  said  of  him,  as 
compared  with  the  great  Italians,  in  the  passages  taken 
from  the  ‘‘Cestus  of  Aglaia,”  farther  on,  §158,  pp.  21)7, 
298. 

114.  This,  then,  is  the  nature  of  the  connection  between 
25  morals  with  art.  Now,  secondly,  I have  asserted  the 

foundation  of  both  these,  at  least  hitherto,  in  war.  The 
reason  of  this  too  manifest  fact  is,  that,  until  now,  it  has 
been  impossible  for  any  nation,  ekcept  a warrior  one,  to 
fix  its  mind  wholly  on  its  men,  instead  of  on  their  posses- 
30  sions.  Every  great  soldier  nation  thinks,  necessarily, 
first  of  multiplying  its  bodies  and  souls  of  men,  in  good 
temper  and  strict  discipline.  As  long  as  this  is  its  political 
aim,  it  does  not  matter  what  it  temporarily  suffers,  or  loses, 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


215 


either  in  numbers  or  in  wealth  ; its  morality  and  its  arts 
(if  it  have  national  art-gift)  advance  together;  but  so 
soon  as  it  ceases  to  be  a warrior  nation,  it  thinks  of  its 
possessions  instead  of  its  men;  and  then  the  moral  and 
poetic  powers  vanish  together.  5 

115.  It  is  thus,  however,  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
virtue  of  war  that  it  should  be  waged  by  personal  strength, 
not  by  money  or  machinery.  A nation  that  fights  with 
a mercenary  force,  or  with  torpedoes  instead  of  iti  own 
arms,  is  dying.  Not  but  that  there  is  more  true  courage  in  10 
modern  than  even  in  ancient  war;  but  this  is,  first,  be- 
cause all  the  remaining  life  of  European  nations  is  with  a 
morbid  intensity  thrown  into  their  soldiers ; and,  secondly, 
because  their  present  heroism  is  the  culmination  of  centu- 
ries of  inbred  and  traditional  valor,  which  Athena  taught  15 
them  by  forcing  them  to  govern  the  foam  of  the  sea- wave 
and  of  the  horse,  — not  the  steam  of  kettles. 

116.  And  further,  note  this,  which  is  vital  to  us  in  the 
present  crisis : If  war  is  to  be  made  by  money  and  ma- 
chinery, the  nation  which  is  the  largest  and  most  covetous  20 
multitude  will  win.  You  may  be  as  scientific  as  you 
choose ; the  mob  that  can  pay  more  for  sulphuric  acid  and 
gunpowder  will  at  last  poison  its  bullets,  throw  acid  in  your 
faces,  and  make  an  end  of  you ; of  itself,  also,  in  good  time, 
but  of  you  first.  And  to  the  English  people  the  choice  of  25 
its  fate  is  very  near  now.  It  may  spasmodically  defend 
its  property  with  iron  walls  a fathom  thick,  a few  years 
longer  — a very  few.  No  walls  will  defend  either  it,  or  its 
havings,  against  the  multitude  that  is  breeding  and  spread- 
ing, faster  than  the  clouds,  over  the  habitable  earth.  We  3° 
shall  be  allowed  to  live  by  small  pedler’s  business,  and  iron- 
mongery— since  we  have  chosen  those  for  our  line  of  life 
— as  long  as  we  are  found  useful  black  servants  to  the 


216 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


Americans,®  and  are  content  to  dig  coals  and  sit  in  the 
cinders ; and  have  still  coals  to  dig,  — they  once  ex- 
hausted, or  got  cheaper  elsewhere,  we  shall  be  abolished. 
But  if  we  think  more  wisely,  while  there  is  yet  time,  and  set 
5 our  minds  again  on  multiplying  Englishmen,  and  not  on 
cheapening  English  wares;  if  we  resolve  to  submit  to 
wholesome  laws  of  labor  and  economy,  and,  setting  our 
political  squabbles  aside,  try  how  many  strong  creatures, 
friendly  and  faithful  to  each  other,  we  can  crowd  into  every 
lo  spot  of  English  dominion,  neither  poison  nor  iron  will 
prevail  against  us;  nor  traffic,  nor  hatred;  the  noble 
nation  will  yet,  by  the  grace  of  Heaven,  rule  over  the 
ignoble,®  and  force  of  heart  hold  its  own  against  fire-balls.® 
117.  But  there  is  yet  a further  reason  for  the  dependence 
15  of  the  arts  on  war.  The  vice  and  injustice  of  the  world 
are  constantly  springing  anew,  and  are  only  to  be  sub- 
dued by  battle ; the  keepers  of  order  and  law^  must  always 
be  soldiers.  And  now,  going  back  to  the  myth  of  Athena, 
we  see  that  though  she  is  first  a warrior  maid,  she  detests 
20  war  for  its  own  sake ; she  arms  Achilles  and  Ulysses  in  just 
quarrels,  but  she  disarms  Ares.  She  contends,  herself, 
continually  against  disorder  and  convulsion,  in  the  earth 
giants;  she  stands  by  Hercules’  side  in  victory  over  all 
monstrous  evil ; in  justice  only  she  judges  and  makes  war.® 
25  But  in  this  war  of  hers  she  is  wholly  implacable.  She 
has  little  notion  of  converting  criminals.  There  is 
no  faculty  of  mercy  in  her  when  she  has  been  resisted. 
Her  word  is  only,  will  mock  when  your  fear  cometh.” 
Note  the  words  that  follow:  ^Uvhen  your  fear  cometh  as 
30  desolation,  and  your  destruction  as  a whirlwind®;”  for 
her  wrath  is  of  irresistible  tempest : om*e  roused,  it  is  blind 
and  deaf  — • rabies  — madness  of  anger  — darkness  of 
Dies  Irae.® 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


217 


And  that  is,  indeed,  the  sorrowfuilest  fact  we  have  to 
know  about  our  own  several  lives.  Wisdom  never  for- 
gives. Whatever  resistance  we  have  offered  to  her  law, 
she  avenges  forever ; the  lost  hour  can  never  be  redeemed, 
and  the  accomplished  wrong  never  atoned  for.  The  best  5 
that  can  be  done  afterwards,  but  for  that,  had  been  better ; 
the  falsest  of  all  the  cries  of  peace,  where  there  is  no  peace, ° 
is  that  of  the  pardon  of  sin,  as  the  mob  expect  it.  Wisdom 
can  ‘'put  away’^  sin,  but  she  cannot  pardon  it;  and  she 
is  apt,  in  her  haste,  to  put  away  the  sinner  as  well,  when  10 
the  black  a'gis  is*  on  her  breast. 

118.  And  this  is  also  a fact  we  have  to  know  about  our 
national  life,  that  it  is  ended  as  soon  as  it  has  lost  the  power 
of  noble  /Vnger.  When  it  paints  over,  and  apologizes  for 
its  pi(ii  j1  criminalities;  and  endures  its  false  weights,  and  15 
its  adulterated  food;  dares  not  to  decide  practically  be- 
tween good  and  evil,  and  can  neither  honor  the  one,  nor 
smite  the  other,  but  sneers  at  the  good,  as  if  it  were  hidden 
evil,  and  consoles  the  evil  with  pious  sympathy,  and  con- 
serves it  in  the  sugar  of  its  leaden  heart,  — the  end  is  20 
come. 

119.  The  first  sign,  then,  of  Athena ^s  presence  with 
any  people  is  that  they  become  warriors,  and  that  the 
chief  thought  of  every  man  of  them  is  to  stand  rightly  in 
his  rank,  and  not  fail  from  his  brother's  side  in  battle.  25 
Wealth,  and  pleasure,  and  even  love,  are  all,  under  Athe- 
na ^s  orders,  sacrificed  to  this  duty  of  standing  fast  in 
the  rank  of  war. 

But  further : Athena  presides  over  industry,  as  well  as 
battle ; typically,  over  women ^s  industry ; that  brings  30 
comfort  with  pleasantness.  Her  word  to  us  all  is : “Be 
well  exercised,  and  rightly  clothed.  Clothed,  and  in  your 
right  minds'^;  not  insane  and  in  rags,  nor  in  soiled  fine 


218 


TUK  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


clothes  clutched  from  eacli  other’s  shoulders.  Fight  and 
weave.  Then  I myself  will  answer  for  the  course  of  the 
lance  and  the  colors  of  the  loom.” 

And  now  I will  ask  the  reader  to  look  with  some  care 
5 through  these  following  passages  respecting  modern  mul- 
titudes and  their  occupations,  written  long  ago,  but  left  in 
fragmentary  form,  in  which  they  must  now  stay,  and  be 
of  what  use  the}^  can. 

120.  It  is  not  political  economy  to  put  a number  of  strong 
lo  men  down  on  an  acre  of  ground,  with  no  lodging,  and  noth- 
ing to  eat.  Nor  is  it  political  economy  td  build  a city  on 
good  ground,  and  fill  it  with  store  of  corn  and  treasure,  and 
put  a score  of  lepers  to  live  in  it.  Political  economy  cre- 
ates together  the  means  of  life,  and  the  living  persons 
15  who  are  to  use  them ; and  of  both,  the  best  and  the  most 
that  it  can,  but  imperatively  the  best,  not  the  most.  A 
few  good  and  healthy  men,  rather  than  a multitude  of 
diseased  rogues  ; and  a little  real  milk  and  wine  rather  than 
much  chalk  and  petroleum ; but  the  gist  of  the  whole  busi- 
20  ness  is  that  the  men  and  their  property  must  both  be  pro- 
duced together  — not  one  to  the  loss  of  the  other.  Prop- 
erty must  not  be  created  in  lands  desolate  by  exile  of  their 
people,  nor  multiplied  and  depraved  humanity  in  land: 
barren  of  bread. 

25  121.  Nevertheless,  though  the  men  and  their  possessions 

are  to  be  increased  at  the  same  time,  the  first  object  ot 
thought  is  always  to  be  the  multiplication  of  a worthy 
people.  The  strength  of  the  nation  is  in  its  multitude,  not 
in  its  territory ; but  only  in  its  sound  multitude.  It  is  one 
30  thing,  both  in  a man  and  a nation,  to  gain  flesh,  and  an- 
other to  be  swollen  with  putrid  humors.  Not  that  multi- 
tude ever  ought  to  be  inconsistent  with  virtue.  Two  men 
should  be  wiser  than  one,  and  two  thousand  than  two; 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


2J9 


nor  do  I know  anolluM*  so  gross  falkuy  in  the  records  of 
human  stupidity  as  that  excuse  for  neglect  of  crime  by 
greatness  of  cities.  As  if  the  first  purpose  of  congregation 
were  not  to  devise  laws  and^  repress  crimes ! As  if  bees 
and  wasps  could  live  honestly  in  flocks,  — men,  only  ins 
separate  dens  ! As  if  it  were  easy  to  help  one  another  on 
the  opposite  sides  of  a mountain,  and  impossible  on  the 
opposite  sides  of  a street ! But  when  the  men  are  true 
and  good,  and  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder,  the  strength 
of  any  nation  is  in  its  quantity  of  life,  not  in  its  land  nor  lo 
gold.  The  more  good  men  a state  has,  in  proportion  to  its 
territory,  the  stronger  the  state.  And  as  it  has  been  the 
madness  of  economists  to  seek  for  gold  instead  of  life,  so 
it  has  been  the  madness  of  kings  to  seek  for  land  instead 
of  life.  They  want  the  town  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  15 
and  seek  it  at  the  spear  point ; it  never  enters  their  stupid 
heads  that  to  double  the  honest  souls  in  the  town  on  this 
side  of  the  river  would  make  them  stronger  kings®;  and 
that  this  doubling  might  be  done  by  the  ploughshare 
instead  of  the  spear,  and  through  happiness  instead  of  20 
misery. 

Therefore,  in  brief,  this  is  the  object  of  all  true  policy 
and  true  economy:  utmost. multitude  of  good  men  on 

every  given  space  of  ground  — imperatively  always 
good,  sound,  honest  men,  — not  a mob  of  white-faced  25 
thieves.  So  that,  on  the  one  hand  all  aristocracy  is  wrong 
which  is  inconsistent  with  numbers ; and  on  the  other  all 
numbers  are  wrong  which  are  inconsistent  with  breeding. 

122.  Then,  touching  the  accumulation  of  wealth  for  the 
maintenance  of  such  men,  observe,  that  you  must  never  30 
use  the  terms  money  and  'Avealth'^  as  synonymous. 
Wealth  consists  of  the  good,  and  therefore  useful,  things 
in  the  possession  of  the  nation  ; money  is  only  the  written 


220 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


or  coined  sign  of  the  relative  quantities  of  wealth  in  each 
personas  possession.  All  money  is  a divisible  title-deed,  of 
immense  importance  as  an  expression  of  right  to  property, 
but  absolutely  valueless  as  property  itself.  Thus,  supposing 
5 a nation  isolated  from  all  others,  the  money  in  its  posses- 
sion is,  at  its  maximum  value,  worth  all  the  property  of  the 
nation,  and  no  more,  because  no  more  can  be  got  for  it. 
And  the  money  of  all  nations  is  worth,  at  its  maximum, 
the  property  of  all  nations,  and  no  more,  for  no  more  can 
lo  be  got  for  it.  Thus,  every  article  of  property  produced 
increases,  by  its  value,  the  value  of  all  the  money  in  the 
world,  and  every  article  of  property  destroyed,  diminishes 
the  value  of  all  the  money  in  the  world.  If  ten  men  are 
cast  away  on  a rock,  with  a thousand  pounds  in  their 
15  pockets,  and  there  is  on  the  rock  neither  food  nor  shelter, 
their  money  is  worth  simply  nothing,  for  nothing  i^  to  be 
had  for  it.  If  they  build  ten  huts,  and  recover  a cask 
of  biscuit  from  the  wreck,  then  their  thousand  pounds, 
at  its  maximum  value,  is  worth  ten  huts  and  a cask  of 
20  biscuit.  If  they  make  their  thousand  pounds  into  two 
thousand  by  writing  new  notes,  their  two  thousand  pounds 
are  still  worth  ten  huts  and  a cask  of  biscuit.  And  the  law 
of  relative  value  is  the  same  for  all  the  world,  and  all  the 
people  in  it,  and  all  their  property,  as  for  ten  men  on  a 
25  rock.  Therefore,  money  is  truly  and  finally  lost  in  the 
degree  in  which  its  value  is  taken  from  it  (ceasing  in  that 
degree  to  be  money  at  all) ; and  it  is  truly  gained  in  the 
degree  in  which  value  is  added  to  it.  Thus,  suppose  the 
money  coined  by  the  nation  be  a fixed  sum,  divided  very 
30  minutely  (say  into  francs  and  cents),  and  neither  to  be 
added  to  nor  diminished.  Then  every  grain  of  food  and 
inch  of  lodging  added  to  its  possessions  makes  every  cent 
in  its  pockets  worth  proportionally  more,  and  every  grain 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


-21 


of  food  it  consumes,  and  inch  of  roof  it  allovrs  to  fall  to 
ruin,  makes  every  cent  in  its  pockets  worth  less ; and  this 
with  mathematical  precision.  The  immediate  value  of 
the  money  at  particular  times  and  places  depends,  indeed, 
on  the  humors  of  the  possessors  of  property ; but  the  5 
nation  is  in  the  one  case  gradually  getting  richer,  and  will 
feel  the  pressure  of  poverty  steadily  everywhere  relaxing, 
whatever  the  humors  of  individuals  may  be ; and,  in  the 
other  case,  is  gradually  growing  poorer,  and  the  pressure 
of  its  poverty  will  every  day  tell  more  and  more,  in  ways  10 
that  it  cannot  explain,  but  will  most  bitterly  feel. 

123.  The  actual  quantity  of  money  which  it  coins,  in 
relation  to  its  real  property,  is  therefore  only  of  conse- 
quence for  convenience  of  exchange;  but  the  proportion 
in  which  this  quantity  of  money  is  divided  among  in-  15 
dividuals  expresses  their  various  rights  to  greater  or  less 
proportions  of  the  national  property,  and  must  not,  there- 
fore, be  tampered  with.  The  government  may  at  any 
time,  with  perfect  justice,  double  its  issue  of  coinage,  if  it 
gives  every  man  who  had  ten  pounds  in  his  pocket  another  20 
ten  pounds,  and  every  man  who  had  ten  pence  another 
ten  pence ; for  it  thus  does  not  make  any  of  them  richer ; 
it  merely  divides  their  counters  for  them  into  tvvdce  the 
number.  But  if  it  gives  the  newly-issued  coins  to  other 
people,  or  keeps  them  itself,  it  simply  robs  the  former  25 
holders  to  precisely  that  extent.  This  most  important 
function  of  money,  as  a title-deed,  on  the  non-violation  of 
which  all  national  soundness  of  commerce  and  peace  of  life 
depend,  has  been  never  rightly  distinguished  by  econo- 
mists from  the  quite  unimportant  function  of  money  as  a 3° 
means  of  exchange.  You  can  exchange  goods  — at  some  in- 
convenience, indeed,  but  still  you  can  contrive  to  do  it  — 
without  money  at  all ; but  you  cannot  maintain  your  claim 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


222 

to  the  savings  of  your  past  life  without  a document  declar- 
ing the  amount  of  them,  which  the  nation  and  its  govern- 
ment will  respect. 

124.  And  as  economists  have  lost  sight  of  this  great 
5 function  of  money  in  relation  to  individual  rights,  so  they 

have  equally  lost  sight  of  its  function  as  a representative 
of  good  things.  That,  for  every  good  thing  produced,  so 
much  money  is  put  into  everybody's  pocket,  is  the  one 
simple  and  primal  truth  for  the  public  to  know,  and  for 
lo  economists  to  teach.  How  many  of  them  have  taught  it? 
Some  have;  l)ut  only  incidentally;  and  others  will  say 
it  is  a truism. ° If  it  be,  do  the  public  know  it?  Does 
your  ordinary  English  householder  know  that  every  costly 
dinner  he  gives  has  destroyed  forever  as  much  money  as  it 
15  is  worth?  Does  ever}"  well-educated  girl  — do  even  the 
women  in  high  political  position  — know  that  every  fine 
dress  they  wear  themselves,  or  cause  to  be  worn,  destroys 
precisely  so  much  of  the  national  money  as  the  labor  and 
material  of  it  are  worth  ? If  this  be  a truism,  it  is  one  that 
20  needs  proclaiming  somewhat  louder. 

125.  That,  then,  is  the  relation  of  money  and  goods. 
So  much  goods,  so  much  money ; so  little  goods,  so  little 
money.  But,  as  there  is  this  true  relation  between  money 
and  “ goods, or  good  things,  so  there  is  a false  relation 

25  between  money  and  “bads,^'  or  bad  things.  Many  bad 
things  will  fetch  a price  in  exchange ; but  they  do  not  in- 
crease the  wealth  of  the  country.  Good  wine  is  wealth, 
drugged  wine  is  not;  good  meat  is  wealth,  putrid  meat  is 
not;  good  pictures  are  wealth,  bad  pictures  are  not. 
30  A thing  is  worth  precisely  what  it  can  do  for  you ; not 
what  you  choose  to  pay  for  it.  You  may  pay  a thousand 
pounds  for  a cracked  pipkin,  if  you  please:  but  you  do 
not  by  that  transaction  make  the  cracked  pii^kin  wortli 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


one  that  will  hold  water,  nor  that,  nor  any  })ii)kin  what- 
soever, worth  more  than  it  was  before  you  paid  such  sum 
for  it.  You  may,  perhaps,  induce  many  potters  to  manu- 
facture fissured  pots,  and  many  amateurs  of  clay  to  bu}^ 
them ; but  the  nation  is,  through  the  whole  business  so  5 
encouraged,  rich  by  the  addition  to  its  wealth  of  so  many 
potsherds  — and  there  an  end.  The  thing  is  worth  what 
it  CAN  do  for  you,  not  what  you  think  it  can ; and  most 
national  luxuries,  now-a-days,  are  a form  of  potsherd, 
provided  for  the  solace  of  a self-complacent  Job,  voluntary  ic 
sedent  on  his  ash-heap. ° 

126.  And,  also,  so  far  as  good  things  already  exist,  and 
have  become  media  of  exchange,  the  variations  in  their 
prices  are  absolutely  indifferent  to  the  nation.  Whether 
Mr.  A.  buys  a Titian  from  Mr.  B.  for  twenty,  or  for  two  15 
thousand,  pounds,  matters  not  sixpence  to  the  national 
revenue ; that  is  to  say,  it  matters  in  nowise  to  the  revenue 
whether  Mr.  A.  has  the  picture,  and  Mr.  B.  the  money,  or 
Mr.  B..  the  picture,  and  Mr.  A.  the  money.  Which  of  them 
will  spend  the  money  most  wisely,  and  which  of  them  will  20 
keep  the  picture  most  carefully,  is,  indeed,  a matter  of 
some  importance ; but  this  cannot  be  known  by  the  mere 
fact  of  exchange. 

127.  The  wealth  of  a nation  then,  first,  and  its  peace 
and  well-being  besides,  depend  on  the  number  oi  persons  it  25 
can  employ  in  making  good  and  useful  things.  I say  its 
well-being  also,  for  the  character  of  men  depends  more  on 
their  occupations  than  on  any  teaching  we  can  give  them, 
or  principles  wdth  which  we  can  imbue  them.  The  em- 
ployment forms  the  habits  of  body  and  mind,  and  these  30 
are  the  constitution  of  the  man,  — the  greater  part  of  his 
moral  or  persistent  nature,  whatever  effort,  under  special 
excitement,  he  may  make  to  change  or  overcome  them. 


224 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


Employment  is  the  half,  and  the  primal  half,  of  education 
— it  is  the  warp  of  it ; and  the  fineness  or  the  endurance  of 
all  subsequently  woven  pattern  depends  wholly  on  its 
straightness  and  strength.  And,  whatever  difficulty  there 
5 may  be  in  tracing  through  past  history  the  remoter  con- 
nections of  event  and  cause,  one  chain  of  sequence  is  always 
clear:  the  formation,  namely,  of  the  character  of  nations 
by  their  employments,  and  the  determination  of  their  final 
fate  by  their  character.  The  moment,  and  the  first  direc- 
lo  tion  of  decisive  revolutions,  often  depend  on  accident ; 
but  their  persistent  course,  and  their  consequences,  depend 
wholly  on  the  nature  of  the  people.  The  passing  of  the 
Reform  Bill  by  the  late  English  Parliament  may  have  been 
more  or  less  accidental;  the  results  of  the  measure  now 
15  rest  on  the  character  of  the  English  people,  as  it  has  been 
developed  by  their  recent  interests,  occupations,  and  habits 
of  life.  Whether,  as  a body,  they  employ  their  new  powers 
for  good  or  evil  will  depend,  not  on  their  facilities  of  knowl- 
edge, nor  even  on  the  general  intelligence  they  may  possess, 
20  but  on  the  number  of  persons  among  them  whom  whole- 
some employments  have  rendered  familiar  with  the  duties, 
and  modest  in  their  estimate  of  the  promises,  of  life. 

128.  But  especially  in  framing  laws  respecting  the 
treatment  or  employment  of  improvident  and  more  or  less 
25  vicious  persons,  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  as  men  are  not 
made  heroes  by  the  performance  of  an  act  of  heroism,  but 
must  be  brave  before  they  can  perform  it,  so  they  are  not 
made  villains  by  the  commission  of  a crime,  ])ut  were  vil- 
lains before  they  committed  it : and  the  right  of  public 
30  interference  with  their  conduct  begins  when  they  begin  to 
corrupt  themselves,  — not  merely  at  tlie  moment  when 
they  have  provc'd  tliernselves  liopelessly  corrupt. 

All  measures  of  reformation  are  effective  in  exact  pro- 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


225 


portion  to  their  timeliness : partial  decay  may  be  cut 
away  and  cleansed ; incipient  error  corrected ; but  there 
is  a point  at  which  corruption  can  no  more  be  stayed,  nor 
wandering  recalled.  It  has  been  the  manner  of  modern 
philanthropy  to  remain  passive  until  that  precise  period, 
and  to  leave  the  sick  to  perish,  and  the  foolish  to  stray, 
while  it  spent  itself  in  frantic  exertions  to  raise  the  dead 
and  reform  the  dust. 

The  recent  direction  of  a great  weight  of  public  opinion 
against  capital  punishment  is,  I trust,  the  sign  of  an 
awakening  perception  that  punishment  is  the  last  and 
worst  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the  legislator  for  the  pre- 
vention of  crime.  The  true  instruments  of  reformation 
are  employment  and  reward ; not  punishment.  Aid  the 
willing,  honor  the  virtuous,  and  compel  the  idle  into  occu- 
pation, and  there  will  be  no  need  for  the  compelling  of  any 
into  the  great  and  last  indolence  of  death. 

129.  The  beginning  of  all  true  reformation  among  the 
criminal  classes  depends  on  the  establishment  of  institu- 
tions for  their  active  employment,  while  their  criminality 
is  still  unripe,  and  their  feelings  of  self-respect,  capacities 
of  affection,  and  sense  of  justice,  not  altogether  quenched. 
That  those  who  are  desirous  of  employment  should  always 
be  able  to  find  it,  will  hardly,  at  the  present  day,  be  dis- 
puted ; but  that  those  who  are  undesirous  of  employment 
should  of  all  persons  be  the  most  strictly  compelled  to  it, 
the  public  are  hardly  yet  convinced;  and  they  must  be 
convinced.  If  the  danger  of  the  principal  thoroughfares 
in  their  capital  city,  and  the  multiplication  of  crimes  more 
ghastly  than  ever  yet  disgraced  a nominal  civilization,  are 
not  enough,  they  will  not  have  to  wait  long  before  they 
receive  sterner  lessons.  For  our  neglect  of  the  lower  orders 
has  reached  a point  at  which  it  begins  to  bear  its  necessary 
Q 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

! 30 


226 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  Alh 


fruit,  and  every  day  makes  the  fields,  not  whitei , but  more 
sable,  to  harvest. 

130.  The  general  principles  by  which  emplo\nment 
should  be  regulated  may  be  briefly  stated  as  follows : 

5 1.  There  being  three  great  classes  of  mechanical  pow- 

ers at  our  disposal,  namely,  (a)  vital  or  muscular  power ; 
[h)  natural  mechanical  power  of  wind,  water,  and  electric- 
ity ; and  (c)  artificially  produced  mechanical  power ; it  is  the 
first  principle  of  economy  to  use  all  available  vital  power 
lo  first,  then  the  inexpensive  natural  forces,  and  only  at  last 
to  have  recourse  to  artificial  power.  And  this  because  it 
is  aiwa}^s  better  for  a man  to  work  with  his  own  hands  to 
feed  and  clothe  himself,  than  to  stand  idle  while  a machine 
works  for  him ; and  if  he  cannot  by  all  the  labor  healthily 
15  possible  to  him  feed  and  clothe  himself,  then  it  is  better 
to  use  an  inexpensive  machine  — as  a windmill  or  water- 
mill — than  a costly  one  like  a steam-engine,  so  long  as  we 
have  natural  force  enough  at  our  disposal.  Whereas  at 
present  we  continually  hear  economists  regret  that  the 
20  water-power  of  the  cascades  or  streams  of  a country 
should  be  lost,  but  hardly  ever  that  the  muscular  power 
of  its  idle  inliabitants  should  be  lost;  and,  again,  we  see 
vast  districts,  as  the  south  of  Provence,®  where  a strong 
wind^  blows  steadily  all  day  long  for  six  days  out  of  seven 
25  throughout  the  year,  without  a windmill,  while  men  are 
continually  employed  a hundred  miles  to  the  north,  in 
digging  fuel  to  obtain  artificial  power.  But  the  principal 
point  of  all  to  be  kept  in  view  is,  that  in  every  idle  arm  and 
shoulder  throughout  the  country  there  is  a certain  quan- 
30  tity  of  force,  equivalent  to  the  force  of  so  much  fuel ; and 

1 In  order  fully  to  utilize  this  natural  power,  we  only  require 
machinery  to  turn  the  variable  into  a constant  velocity  — no  in- 
surmountable difficulty. 


ATHENA  IN  THE  BEAUT 


22' 


that  it  is  mere  insane  waste  to  dig  for  coal  for  our  force, 
while  the  vital  force  is  unused,  and  not  only  unused,  but  in 
being  so,  corrupting  and  polluting  itself.  We  waste  our 
coal,  and  spoil  our  humanity  at  one  and  the  same  instant. 
Therefore,  wherever  there  is  an  idle  arm,  always  save  coal  5 
with  it,  and  the  stores  of  England  will  last  all  the  longer. 
And  precisely  the  same  argument  answers  the  common 
one  about  ^Haking  employment  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
industrious  laborer. Why,  what  is  '^employment’'  but 
the  putting  out  of  vital  force  instead  of  mechanical  force  ^ 10 
We  are  continually  in  search  of  means  of  strength  to  pull,  to 
hammer,  to  fetch,  to  carry.  We  waste  our  future  resources 
to  get  this  strength,  while  we  leave  all  the  living  fuel  to 
burn  itself  out  in  mere  pestiferous  breath,  and  production 
of  its  variously  noisome  forms  of  ashes ! Clearly,  if  we  1 5 
want  fire  for  force,  we  want  men  for  force  first.  The  in- 
dustrious hands  must  already  have  so  much  to  do  that  they 
can  do  no  more,  or  else  we  need  not  use  machines  to  help 
them.  Then  use  the  idle  hands  first.  Instead  of  dragging 
petroleum  with  a steam-engine,  put  it  on  a canal,  and  20 
drag  it  with  human  arms  and  shoulders.  Petroleum  can- 
not possibly  be  in  a hurry  to  arrive  anywhere.  ° We  can 
always  order  that,  and  many  other  things,  time  enough 
before  we  want  it.  So,  the  carriage  of  everything  which 
does  not  spoil  by  keeping  may  most  wholesomely  and  25 
safely  be  done  by  water-traction  and  sailing-vessels ; and 
no  healthier  work  can  men  be  put  to,  no  better  discipline, 
than  such  active  porterage. 

131.  (2d.)  In  employing  all  the  muscular  power  at  our 
disposal  we  are  to  make  the  employments  we  choose  as  30 
educational  as  possible ; for  a wholesome  human  employ- 
ment is  the  first  and  best  method  of  education,  mental  as 
well  as  bodily.®  A man  taught  to  plough,  row,  or  steer 


228 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


well,  and  a woman  taught  to  cook  properly,  and  make 
a dress  neatly,  are  already  educated  in  man)^  essential 
moral  habits.  Labor  considered  as  a discipline  has 
hitherto  been  thought  of  only  for  criminals;  but  the  real 
5 and  noblest  function  of  labor  is  to  prevent  crime,  and  not 
to  be  /Reformatory,  but  Format ory. 

132.  The  third  great  principle  of  employment  is,  that 
whenever  there  is  pressure  of  poverty  to  be  met,  all 
enforced  occupation  should  be  directed  to  the  production 
lo  of  useful  articles  only ; that  is  to  say,  of  food,  of  simple 
clothing,  of  lodging,  or  of  the  means  of  conveying,  dis- 
tributing, and  preserving  these.  It  is  yet  little  under- 
stood by  economists,  and  not  at  all  by  the  public,  that  the 
emplo3^ment  of  persons  in  a useless  business  cannot  relieve 
15  ultimate  distress.  The  money  given  to  employ  riband- 
makers®  at  Coventry  is  merely  so  much  money  withdrawn 
from  what  would  have  employed  lace-makers  at  Honiton ; 
or  makers  of  something  else,  as  useless,  elsewhere.  We 
must  spend  our  money  in  some  way,  at  some  time,  and  it 
20  cannot  at  any  time  be  spent  without  employing  some- 
body. If  we  gamble  it  away,  the  person  who  wins  it 
must  spend  it ; if  we  lose  it  in  a railroad  speculation,  it  has 
gone  into  some  one  else’s  pockets,  or  merely  gone  to  pay 
navvies®  for  making  a useless  embankment,  instead  of  to 
25  pay  riband  or  button  makers  for  making  useless  ribands 
or  buttons;  we  cannot  lose  it  (unless  bv  actually  destro\^- 
ing  it)  without  giving  emplo}^ment  of  some  kind;  and, 
therefore,  whatever  quantit}^  of  money  exists,  the  relative 
quantity  of  emplo^^ment  must  some  day  crme  cut  of  it; 
30  but  the  distress  of  the  nation  signifies  that  the  emplo\’- 
ments  given  have  produced  nothing  that  will  support  its 
existence.  Men  cannot  live  on  ribands,  or  buttons,  or 
velvet,  or  by  going  quickly  from  place  to  place ; and  every 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


229 


coin  spent  in  useless  ornament,  or  useless  motion,  is  so 
much  withdrawn  from  the  national  means  of  life.  One 
of  the  most  beautiful  uses  of  railroads  is  to  enable  A to 
travel  from  the  town  of  X to  take  away  the  business  of  B 
in  the  town  of  Y ; while,  in  the  meantime,  B travels  from 
the  town  of  Y to  take  away  A^s  business  in  the  town  of  X. 
But  the  national  wealth  is  not  increased  by  these  opera- 
tions. Whereas  every  coin  spent  in  cultivating  ground,  in 
repairing  lodging,  in  making  necessary  and  good  roads,  in 
preventing  danger  by  sea  or  land,  and  in  carriage  of  food 
or  fuel  where  they  are  required,  is  so  much  absolute  and 
direct  gain  to  the  whole  nation.  To  cultivate  land  round 
Coventry  makes  living  easier  at  Honiton,  and  every  acre  of 
sand  gained  from  the  sea  in  Lincolnshire  makes  life  easier 
all  over  England. 

4th,  and  lastly.  Since  for  every  idle  person  some  one 
else  must  be  working  somewhere  to  provide  him  with 
clothes  and  food,  and  doing,  therefore,  double  the  quantity 
of  work  that  would  be  enough  for  his  own  needs,  it  is  onl}^  a 
matter  of  pure  justice  to  compel  the  idle  person  to  work  for 
his  maintenance  himself.  The  conscription  has  been  used 
in  many  countries  to  take  away  laborers  who  supported 
their  families,  from  their  useful  work,  and  maintain  them 
for  purposes  chiefly  of  military  display  at  the  public 
expense.  Since  this  has  been  long  endured  by  the  most 
civilized  nations,  let’  it  not  be  thought  they  would  not 
much  more  gladly  endure  a conscription  which  should  seize 
only  the  vicious  and  idle,  already  living  by  criminal  pro- 
cedures  at  the  public  expense ; and  which  should  discipline 
and  educate  them  to  labor  which  would  not  only  maintain 
tliemselves,  but  be  serviceable  to  the  commonwealth.  The 
question  is  simply  this  : we  must  feed  the  drunkard,  vaga- 
bond, and  thief ; but  shall  we  do  so  by  letting  them  steal 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


230 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


their  food,  and  do  no  work  for  it  ? or  shall  we  give  them  their 
food  in  appointed  quantity,  and  enforce  their  doing  work 
which  shall  he  worth  it,  and  which,  in  process  of  time,  will 
redeem  their  own  characters  and  make  them  happy  and 
5 serviceable  members  of  society  ? 

I find  by  me  a violent  little  fragment  of  undelivered 
lecture,  which  puts  this,  perhaps,  still  more  clearl}^ 
Your  idle  people  (it  says),  as  they  are  now,  are  not 
merely  waste  coal-beds.  They  are  explosive  coal-beds^ 
TO  which  you  pay  a high  annual  rent  for.  You  are  keep- 
ing all  these  idle  persons,  remember,  at  far  greater  cost 
than  if  they  vrere  busy.  Do  you  think  a vicious  person 
eats  less  than  an  honest  one  ? or  that  it  is  cheaper  to  keep 
a bad  man  drunk,  than  a good  man  sober?  There  is,  I 
15  suppose,  a dim  idea  in  the  mind  of  the  public,  that  they 
don’t  pay  for  the  maintenance  of  people  they  don’t  em- 
ploy. Those  staggering  rascals  at  the  street  corner, 
grouped  around  its  splendid  angle  of  public-house,  we  fancy 
that  they  are  no  servants  of  ours ! that  we  pay  them  no 
20  wages  ! that  no  cash  out  of  our  pockets  is  spent  over  that 
beer-stained  counter ! 

Whose  cash  is  it  then  they  are  spending  ? It  is  not  got 
honestly  by  work.  You  know  that  much.  Where  do 
they  get  it  from  ? Who  has  paid  for  their  dinner  and  their 
25  pot?  Those  fellows  can  only  live  in  one  of  two  ways  — 
by  pillage  or  beggary.  Their  annual  income  by  thieving 
comes  out  of  the  public  pocket,  you  will  admit.  They  are 
not  cheaply  fed,  so  far  as  they  are  fed  by  theft.  But  the 
rest  of  their  living  — all  that  they  don’t  steal  — they 
30  must  beg.  Not  with  success  from  you,  you  think.  Wise, 
as  benevolent,  you  never  gave  a penn}^  in  “indiscriminate 
charity.”  Well,  I congratulate  you  on  the  freedom  of  your 
conscience  from  that  sin,  mine  being  bitterly  burdened 


ATIIKNA  IN  THE  HEART 


231 


with  the  memory  of  many  a sixpence  given  to  beggars  of 
whom  I knew  nothing  but  that  they  had  pale  faces  and 
thin  waists.  But  it  is  not  that  kind  of  street  beggary  that 
the  vagabonds  of  our  people  chiefly  practise.  It  is  home 
beggary  that  is  the  worst  beggars'  trade.  Home  alms 
which  it  is  their  worst  degradation  to  receive.  Those 
scamps  know  well  enough  that  you  and  your  wisdom  are 
worth  nothing  to  them.  They  won't  beg  of  you.  They 
will  beg  of  their  sisters,  and  mothers,  and  wives,  and 
children,  and  of  any  one  else  who  is  enough  ashamed  of 
being  of  the  sam.e  blood  with  them  to  pay  to  keep  them 
out  of  sight.  Every  one  of  those  blackguards  is  the  bane 
of  a family.  That  is  the  deadly  ^^indiscriminate  charity  " 
— the  charity  which  each  household  pays  to  maintain  its 
own  private  curse. 

133.  And  you  think  that  is  no  affair  of  yours?  and 
that  every  family  ought  to  watch  over  and  subdue 
its  own  living  plague?  Put  it  to  yourselves  this  way, 
then : suppose  you  knew  every  one  of  those  families 
kept  an  idol  in  an  inner  room  — a big-bellied  bronze 
figure,  to  which  daily  sacrifice  and  oblation  was  made ; 
at  whose  feet  so  much  beer  and  brandy  was  poured  out 
every  morning  on  the  ground ; and  before  which,  every 
night,  good  meat,  enough  for  two  men's  keep,  was  set,  and 
left,  till  it  was  putrid,  and  then  carried  out  and  thrown 
on  the  dunghill ; you  would  put  an  end  to  that  form 
of  idolatry  with  your  best  diligence,  I suppose.  You 
would  understand  then  that  the  beer,  and  brandy,  and 
meat,  were  wasted  ; and  that  the  burden  imposed  by  each 
household  on  itself  lay  heavily  through  them  on  the  whole 
community  ? But,  suppose  further,  that  this  idol  were  not 
of  silent  and  quiet  bronze  only,  but  an  ingenious  mechan- 
ism, wound  up  every  morning,  to  run  itself  down  in  auto- 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


232 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


matic  blasphemies  ; that  it  struck  and  tore  with  its  hands 
the  people  who  set  food  before  it ; that  it  was  anointed 
with  poisonous  unguents,  ° and  infected  the  air  for  miles 
round.  You  would  interfere  with  the  idolatry  then, 

5 straightway  ? Will  you  not  interfere  with  it  now,  when 
the  infection  that  the  venomous  idol  spreads  is  not  merely 
death,  but  sin  ? 

134.  So  far  the  old  lecture.  Returning  to  cool  English,'^  ' 
the  end  of  the  matter  is,  that,  sooner  or  later,  we  shall  have 
lo  to  register  our  people ; and  to  know  how  they  live ; and  to 
make  sure,  if  they  are  capable  of  work,  that  right  work  is 
given  them  to  do. 

The  different  classes  of  wmrk  for  which  bodies  of  men 
could  be  consistently  organized,  might  ultimately  become 
15  numerous ; these  following  divisions  of  occupation  may  at 
once  be  suggested  : — 

1 . Road-making.  — Good  roads  to  be  made,  wherever 
needed,  and  kept  in  repair ; and  the  annual  loss  on  unfre- 
quented roads,  in  spoiled  horses,  strained  wheels,  and  time, 

20  done  away  with. 

2.  Bringing  in  of  icaste  land.  — All  waste  lands  not  nec- 
essary for  public  health,  to  be  made  accessible  and  gradu- 
ally reclaimed ; chiefly  our  wide  and  waste  seashores.  Not 
our  mountains  nor  moorland.  Our  life  depends  on  them, 

25  more  than  on  the  best  arable  we  have. 

3.  Harhor-making.  — The  deficiencies  of  safe  or  con- 
venient harborage  in  our  smaller  ports  to  be  remedied ; 
other  harbors  built  at  dangerous  points  of  coast,  and  a 
disciplined  body  of  men  always  kept  in  connection  with 

30  the  pilot  and  life-boat  services.  There  is  room  for  every 
order  of  intelligence  in  this  work,  and  for  a large  body  of 
superior  officers. 

4.  Porterage.  — All  heavy  goods,  not  requiring  speed  in 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


233 


transit,  to  be  carried  (under  preventive  duty  on  transit 
by  railroad)  by  canal-boats,  employing  men  for  draught ; 
and  the  merchant-shipping  service  extended  by  sea ; so 
that  no  ships  may  be  wrecked  for  want  of  hands,  while 
there  are  idle  ones  in  mischief  on  shore.  5 

5.  Repair  of  buildings.  — A body  of  men  in  various 
trades  to  be  kept  at  the  disposal  of  the  authorities  in  every 
large  town,  for  repair  of  buildings,  especially  the  houses  of 
the  poorer  orders,  who,  if  no  such  provisions  were  made, 
could  not  employ  workmen  on  their  own  houses,  but  would  ic 
simply  live  with  rent  walls  and  roofs. 

6.  Dressmaking.  — Substantial  dress,  of  standard  ma- 
terial and  kind,  strong  shoes,  and  stout  bedding,  to  be 
manufactured  for  the  poor,  so  as  to  render  it  unnecessary 
for  them,  unless  by  extremity  of  im.providence,  to  wear  15 
cast  clothes,  or  be  without  sufficiency  of  clothing. 

7.  Works  of  art.  — Schools  to  be  established  on  thor- 
oughly sound  principles  of  manufacture,  and  use  of  materials, 
and  with  sample  and,  for  given  periods,  unalterable  modes 
of  work ; first,  in  pottery,  and  embracing  gradually  metal  20 
work,  sculpture,  and  decorative  painting ; the  two  points 
insisted  upon,  in  distinction  from  ordinary  commercial 
establishments,  being  perfectness  of  materials  to  the  ut- 
most attainable  degree ; and  the  production  of  everything 
by  hand-work,  for  the  special  purpose  of  developing  per-  25 
sonal  power  and  skill  in  the  workman. 

The  last  two  departments,  and  some  subordinate 
branches  of  others,  would  include  the  service  of  women 
and  children. 

I give  now,  for  such  further  illustration  as  they  contain  3c 
of  the  points  I desire  most  to  insist  upon  with  respect 
both  to  education  and  employment,  a portion  of  the 
series  of  notes  published  some  time  ago  in  the  ^^Art 


234 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


Journal/'  on  the  opposition  of  Modesty  and  Liberty,  and 
the  unescapable  law  of  wise  restraint.  I am  sorry  that 
they  are  written  obscurely  — and  it  may  be  thought 
affectedly ; but  the  fact  is,  I have  always  had  three  differ- 
5 ent  ways  of  writing®  : one,  with  the  single  view  of  making 
myself  understood,  in  which  I necessarily  omit  a great  deal 
of  what  comes  into  my  head;  another,  in  which  I say 
what  I think  ought  to  be  said,  in  what  I suppose  to  be  the 
best  words  I can  find  for  it  (which  is  in  reality  an  affected 
lo  style  — be  it  good  or  bad) ; and  my  third  way  of  writing 
is  to  say  all  that  comes  into  my  head  for  my  own  pleasure, 
in  the  first  words  that  come,  retouching  them  afterwards 
into  (approximate)  grammar.  These  notes  for  the  ^^Art 
Journal"  were  so  written;  and  I like  them  myself,  of 
15  course ; but  ask  the  reader's  pardon  for  their  confusedness. 

135.  Sir,  it  cannot  be  better  done." 

We  will  insist,  with  the  reader's  permission,  on  this 
comfortful  saying  of  Albert  Diirer's®  in  order  to  find  out,  if 
we  may,  what  Modesty  is ; which  it  will  be  well  for  paint- 
20  ters,  readers,  and  especially  critics,  to  know,  before  going 
farther.  What  it  is;  or,  rather,  who  she  is,  her  fingers 
being  among  the  deftest  in  laying  the  ground-threads  of 
Aglaia's  cestus.® 

For  this  same  opinion  of  Albert's  is  entertained  by  many 
25  other  people  respecting  their  own  doings®  — a very  preva- 
lent opinion,  indeed,  I find  it ; and  the  answer  itself, 
though  rarely  made  with  the  Nuremberger's  crushing  de- 
cision, is  nevertheless  often  enough  intimated,  with  deli- 
cacy, by  artists  of  all  countries,  in  their  various  dialects. 
30  Neither  can  it  always  be  held  an  entirely  modest  one,  as  it 
assuredly  was  in  the  man  who  would  sometimes  estimate 
a piece  of  his  uncomjuerable  work  at  only  the  worth  of  a 
plate  of  fruit,  or  a flask  of  wine  - woiihl  have  taken  even 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


235 


one  ^^fig  for  it/^  kindly  offered;  or  given  it  royally  for 
nothing,  to  show  his  hand  to  a fellow-king  of  his  own,  or 
any  other  craft  — as  Cainsborough®  gave  the  ^^Boy  at 
the  Stile/^  for  a solo  on  the  violin.  An  entirely  modest 
saying,  I repeat,  in  him  — not  always  in  us.  For  Modesty  5 
is  ‘^the  measuring  virtue,^^  the  virtue  of  modes  or  limits. 
She  is,  indeed,  said  to  be  only  the  third  or  youngest  of  the 
children  of  the  cardinal  virtue,  Temperance ; and  aj)t  to  be 
despis(‘d,  being  more  given  to  arithmetic,  and  other  vulgar 
studies  (Cinderella°-like),  than  her  elder  sisters;  but  she  is 
useful  in  the  household,  and  arrives  at  great  results  with  her 
yard-measure  and  slate-pencil  — a pretty  little  Marchande 
des  Modes,®  cutting  her  dress  always  according  to  the  silk 
(if  this  be  the  proper  feminine  reading  of  ‘^coat  according 
to  the  cloth  so  that,  consulting  with  her  carefully  of  a 15 
morning,  men  get  to  know  not  only  their  income,  but  their 
inbeing  — to  kno^v  themselves,  that  is,  in  a gauger^s  man- 
ner, round,  and  up  and  down  — surface  and  contents ; 
wdiat  is  in  them,  and  w^hat  may  be  got  out  of  them  and, 
in  fine,  their  entire  canon  of  weight  and  capacity.  That  20 
yard-measure  of  Modesty \s,  lent  to  those  who  will  use  it, 
is  a curious  musical  reed,  and  wdll  go  I'ound  and  round 
waists  that  are  slender  enough,  w ith  latent  melody  in 
every  joint  of  it,  the  dark  root  only  being  soundless,  moist 
from  the  wave  wherein  25 

^^Nuir  altra  pianta  che  facesse  fronda 

O che  ^n  durasse,  vi  puote  aver  vita.^'°^ 

But  when  the  little  sister  herself  takes  it  in  hand,  to 
measure  things  outside  of  us  with,  the  joints  shoot  out  in 
an  amazing  manner : the  four-square  w^alls  even  of  celestial  3° 
cities  being  measurable  enough  by  that  reed® ; and  the 


1 ‘^Purgatorio/’  i.  108,  109. 


236 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


way  pointed  to  them,  though  only  to  be  followed,  or  even 
seen,  in  the  dim  starlight  shed  down  from  worlds  amidst 
which  there  is  no  name  of  Measure  any  more,  though  the 
reahty  of  it  alwa3"s.  For,  indeed,  to  all  true  modesty  the 
5 necessar}^  business  is  not  inlook,  but  outlook,  and  espe- 
cially i/plook : it  is  only  her  sister  Shamefacedness,  who  is 
known  by  the  drooping  lashes  — ]\Iodesty,  quite  other- 
wise, b}"  her  large  eyes  full. of  wonder;  for  she  never  con- 
temns herself,  nor  is  ashamed  of  herself,  but  forgets 
lo  herself  — at  least  until  she  has  done  something  worth 
memory.  It  is  eas}^  to  peep  and  potter  about  one^s  own 
deficiencies  in  a quiet  immodest  discontent ; but  ^lodesty 
is  so  pleased  with  other  people's  doings,  that  she  has  no 
leisure  to  lament  her  own:  and  thus,  knowing  the  fresh 
15  feeling  of  contentment,  unstained  with  thought  of  self, 
she  does  not  fear  being  pleased,  when  there  is  cause,  with 
her  own  rightness,  as  with  another's,  sa\ung  calmly,  “ Be 
it  mine,  or  yours,  or  whose  else 's  it  may,  it  is  no  matter; 
this  also  is  well."  But  the  right  to  say  such  a thing  de- 
20  pends  on  continual  reverence,  and  manifold  sense  of 
failure.  If  you  have  known  j-ourself  to  have  failed,  you 
may  trust,  when  it  comes,  the  strange  consciousness  of 
success;  if  you  have  faithfully  loved  the  noble  work  of 
others,  you  need  not  fear  to  speak  with  respect  of  things 
25  duly  done,  of  your  own. 

136.  But  the  principal  good  that  comes  of  art  being 
followed  in  this  reverent  feeling  is  vitally  manifest  in  the 
associative  conditions  of  it.  Men  who  know  their  place 
can  take  it  and  keep  it,  be  it  low  or  high,  contentedly  and 
30  firmly,  neither  ^fielding  nor  grasping ; and  the  harmony  of 
hand  and  thought  follows,  rendering  all  great  deeds  of  art 
possible  — deeds  in  which  the  souls  of  men  meet  like  the 
jewels  in  the  windows  of  Aladdin's  palace,®  the  little  gems 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


231 


and  the  large  all  equally  pure,  needing  no  cement  but  the 
fitting  of  facets ; while  the  associative  work  of  immodest 
men  is  all  jointless,  and  astir  with  wormy  ambition;  pu- 
tridly dissolute,  and  forever  on  the  crawl : so  that  if  it 
come  together  for  a time,  it  can  only  be  by  metamorphosis  5 
through  flash  of  volcanic  fire  out  of  the  vale  of  Siddim,® 
vitrifying  the  clay  of  it,  and  fastening  the  slime,  only  to 
end  in  wilder  scattering;  according  to  the  fate  of  those 
oldest,  mightiest,  immodestest  of  builders,  of  whom  it  is 
told  in  scorn,  ^^They  had  brick  for  stone,  and  slime  had  ig 
they  for  mortar/^® 

137.  The  first  function  of  Modesty,  then,  being  this 
recognition  of  place,  her  second  is  the  recognition  of  law, 
and  delight  in  it,  for  the  sake  of  law  itself,  whether  her 
part  be  to  assert  it,  or  obey.  For  as  it  belongs  to  all  im-  15 
modesty  to  defy  or  deny  law,  and  assert  privilege  and 
license,  according  to  its  own  pleasure  (it  being  therefore 
rightly  called  insolent/^  that  is,  custom-breaking,^^ 
violating  some  usual  and  appointed  order  to  attain  for 
itself  greater  forwardness  or  power),  so  it  is  the  habit  of  20 
all  modesty  to  love  the  constancy  and  solemnity or, 
literally,  accustomedness, of  law,  seeking  first  what  are 
the  solemn,  appointed,  inviolable  customs  and  general 
orders  of  nature,  and  of  the  Master  of  nature,  touching 
the  matter  in  hand ; and  striving  to  put  itself,  as  habitu-  25 
ally  and  inviolably,  in  compliance  with  them.  Out  of 
which  habit,  once  established,  arises  what  is  rightly  called 
conscience, not  science  merely,  but  ^Svith-science,^^ 
a science  ^^with  us,^’  such  as  only  modest  creatures  can 
have  — with  or  within  them  — and  within  all  creation  be-  3^ 
sides,  every  member  of  it,  strong  or  weak,  witnessing  to- 
gether, and  joining  in  the  happy  consciousness  that  each 
one's  work  is  good ; the  bee  also  being  profoundly  of  that 


238 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


opinion ; and  the  lark ; and  the  swallow,  in  that  noisy,  but 
modestly  upside-down,  Babel®  of  hers,  under  the  eaves, 
with  its  un volcanic  slime  for  mortar;  and  the  two  ants 
who  are  asking  of  each  other  at  the  turn  of  that  little  ant  V 
5 foot-worn  path  through  the  moss  lor  via  e lor  fortuna® 
and  the  builders  also,  who  built  yonder  pile  of  cloud-marble 
in  the  west,  and  the  gilder  who  gilded  it,  and  is  gone  down 
behind  it. 

138.  But  I think  we  shall  better  understand  what  we 
lo  ought  of  the  nature  of  Modesty,  and  of  her  opposite,  by 
taking  a simple  instance  of  both,  in  the  practice  of  that 
art  of  music  which  the  wisest  have  agreed  in  thinking  the 
first  element  of  education;  only  I must  ask  the  reader^s 
patience  with  me  through  a parenthesis. 

15  Among  the  foremost  men  whose  power  has  had  to  as- 
sert itself,  though  with  conquest,  }"et  with  countless  loss, 
through  peculiarly  English  disadvantages  of  circumstance, 
are  assuredly  to  be  ranked  together,  both  for  honor,  and 
for  mourning,  Thomas  Bewick®  and  George  Cruikshank.® 
20  There  is,  however,  less  cause  for  regret  in  the  instance  of 
Bewick.  We  may  understand  that  it  was  well  for  us  once 
to  see  what  an  entirely  powerful  painter^s  genius,  and  an 
entirely  keen  and  true  man^s  temper,  could  achieve,  to- 
gether, unhelped,  but  also  unharmed,  among  the  black 
25  banks  and  wolds  of  Tyne.®  But  the  genius  of  Cruikshank 
has  been  cast  away  in  an  utterly  ghastly  and  lamentable 
manner : his  superb  line-work,  worthy  of  any  class  of 
subject,  and  his  powers  of  conception  and  composition, 
of  which  I cannot  venture  to  estimate  the  range  in  their 
30  degraded  application,  having  been  condemned,  by  his  fate, 
to  be  spent  either  in  rude  jesting,  or  in  vain  war  with  con- 
ditions of  vice  too  low  alike  for  record  or  rebuke,  among 
the  dregs  of  the  British  populace.  Yet  j)erhaps  I am 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


239 


wrong  in  regretting  even  this : it  may  be  an  appointed 
lesson  for  futurity,  that  the  art  of  the  best  English  etcher 
in  the  nineteenth  century,  spent  on  illustrations  of  the 
lives  of  burglars  and  drunkards,  should  one  day  be  seen  in 
museums  beneath  Greek  vases  fretted  with  drawings  of  the  5 
wars  of  Troy,  or  side  by  side  with  Diirer^s  “ Knight  and 
Death 

139.  .Be  that  as  it  may,  I am  at  present  glad  to  be  able 
to  refer  to  one  of  these  perpetuations,  by  his  strong  hand, 
of  such  human  character  as  our  faultless  British  constitu-  10 
tion  occasionally  produces  in  out-of-the-way  corners.  It 

is  among  his  illustrations  of  the  Irish  Rebellion,  and  repre- 
sents the  pillage  and  destruction  of  agentleman^s  house  by 
the  mob.  They  have  made  a heap  in  the  drawing-room  of 
the  furniture  and  books,  to  set  first  fire  to ; and  are  tearing  15 
up  the  floor  for  its  more  easily  kindled  planks,  the  less 
busily-disposed  meanwhile  hacking  roun^  in  rage,  with 
axes,  and  smashing  what  they  can  with  butt-ends  of  guns. 

I do  not  care  to  follow  with  words  the  ghastly  truth  of  the 
picture  into  its  detail ; but  the  most  expressive  incident  20 
of  the  whole,  and  the  one  immediately  to  my  purpose,  is 
this,  that  one  fellow  has  sat  himself  at  the  piano,  on  which, 
hitting  down  fiercely  with  his  clenched  fists,  he  plays,  grin- 
ning, such  tune  as  may  be  so  producible,  to  which  melody 
two  of  his  companions,  flourishing  knotted  sticks,  dance,  25 
after  their  manner,  on  the  top  of  the  instrument. 

140.  I think  we  have  in  this  conception  as  perfect  an  in- 
stance as  we  require  of  the  lowest  supposable  phase  of  im- 
modest or  licentious  art  in  music ; the  inner  consciousness 
of  good  being  dim,  even  in  the  musician  and  his  audience,  3c 
and  wholly  unsympathized  with,  and  unacknowledged  by 
(he  Delphian,  Vestal,  and  all  other  prophetic  and  cosmic 
powers. ° This  represented  scene  came  into  my  mind  such 


240 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


denly  one  evening,  a few  weeks  ago,  in  contrast  with  an- 
other which  I was  watching  in  its  reality ; namely,  a group 
of  gentle  school-girls,  leaning  over  Mr.  Charles  Halle,  as  he 
was  playing  a variation  on  Home,  Sweet  Home.^^°  They 
5 had  sustained  with  unwonted  courage  the  glance  of  sub- 
dued indignation  with  which,  having  just  closed  a rip- 
pling melody  of  Sebastian  Bach^s°  (much  like  what  one 
might  fancy  the  singing  of  nightingales  would  be  if  they 
fed  on  honey  instead  of  flies) , he  turned  to  the  slight,  popular 
lo  air.  But  they  had  their  own  associations  with  it,  and 
besought  for,  and  obtained  it,  and  pressed  close,  at  first, 
in  vain,  to  see  what  no  glance  could  follow,  the  traversing 
of  the  fingers.  They  soon  thought  no  more  of  seeing. 
The  wet  eyes,  round-open,  and  the  little  scarlet  upper  lips, 
15  lifted,  and  drawn  slightly  together,  in  passionate  glow  of 
utter  wonder,  became  picture-like,  porcelain-like,  in  mo- 
tionless joy,  as ^ the  sweet  multitude  of  low  notes  fell,  in 
their  timely  infinities,  like  summer  rain.  Only  La  Robbia® 
himself  (nor  even  he,  unless  with  tenderer  use  of  color  than 
20  is  usual  in  his  work)  could  have  rendered  some  image  of  that 
listening. 

141.  But  if  the  reader  can  give  due  vitality  in  his  fancy 
to  these  two  scenes,  he  will  have  in  them  representative 
types,  clear  enough  for  all  future  purpose,  of  the  several 
25  agencies  of  debased  and  perfect  art.  And  the  interval 
may  easily  and  continuously  be  filled  by  mediate  grada- 
tions. Between  the  entirely  immodest,  unmeasured,  and 
(in  evil  sense)  unmannered,  execution  with  the  fist ; and 
the  entirely  modest,  measured,  and  (in  the  noblest  sense) 
30  mannered,  or  moralkl  execution  with  the  finger;  between 
the  impatient  and  unpractised  doing,  containing  in  itself 
the  witness  of  lasting  impatience  and  idleness  through  all 
previous  life,  and  the  patient  and  practised  doing,  con- 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


241 


taining  in  itself  the  witness  of  self-restraint  and  un- 
wearied toil  through  all  previous  life;  between  the  ex- 
pressed subject  and  sentiment  of  home  violation,  and  the 
expressed  subject  and  sentiment  of  home  love;  between 
the  sympathy  of  audience,  given  in  irreverent  and  con-  5 
temptuous  rage,  joyless  as  the  rabidness  of  a dog,  and  the 
sympathy  of  audience  given  in  an  almost  appalled  humil- 
ity of  intense,  rapturous,  and  yet  entirely  reasoning  and 
reasonable  pleasure;  between  these  two  limits  of  octave, 
the  reader  will  find  he  can  class,  according  to  its  modesty,  10 
usefulness,  and  grace,  or  becomingness,  all  other  musical 
art.  For  although  purity  of  purpose  and  fineness  of  execu- 
tion by  no  means  go  together,  degree  to  degree  (since  fine, 
and  indeed  all  but  the  finest,  work  is  often  spent  in  the 
most  wanton  purpose  — as  in  all  our  modern  opera  — 15 
and  the  rudest  execution  is  again  often  joined  with  purest 
purpose,  as  in  a mother^s  song  to  her  child),  still  the 
entire  accomplishment  of  music  is  only  in  the  union  of 
both.  For  the  difference  between  that  ^^all  but^'  finest 
and  finest is  an  infinite  one;  and  besides  this,  however 20 
the  power  of  the  performer,  once  attained,  may  be  after- 
wards misdirected,  in  slavery  to  popular  passion  or  child- 
ishness, and  spend  itself,  at  its  sweetest,  in  idle  melodies, 
cold  and  ephemeral  (like  Michael  Angelovs  snow  statue 
in  the  other  art),  or  else  in  vicious  difficulty  and  miserable  25 
noise  — crackling  of  thorns  under  the  pot°  of  public  sensu- 
ality — still,  the  attainment  of  this  power,  and  the  main- 
tenance of  it,  involve  always  in  the  executant  some  virtue 
or  courage  of  high  kind ; the  understanding  of  which,  and 
of  the  difference  between  the  discipline  which  develops  it  3c 
and  the  disorderly  efforts  of  the  amateur,  it  will  be  one 
of  our  first  businesses  to  estimate  rightly.  And  though 
not  indeed  by  degree  to  degree,  yet  in  essential  relation 


242 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


(as  of  winds  to  waves,  the  one  bein^  always  the  true  cause 
of  the  other,  though  they  are  not  necessarily  of  equal  force 
at  the  same  time),  we  shall  find  vice  in  its  varieties,  with 
art -failure,  — and  virtue  in  its  varieties,  with  art-success, 
5 — fall  and  rise  together : the  peasant -girl's  song  at  her 
spinning-wheel,  the  peasant  laborer's  ‘^to  the  oaks  and 
rills,"  — domestic  music,  feebly  yet  sensitively  skilful, — 
music  for  the  multitude,  of  beneficent  or  of  traitorous 
powder,  — dance-melodies,  pure  and  orderly,  or  foul  and 
lo  frantic,  — march-music,  blatant  in  mere  fever  of  animal 
pugnacity,  or  majestic  with  force  of  national  duty  and 
memory,  — song-music,  reckless,  sensual,  sickly,  slovenly, 
forgetful  even  of  the  foolish  words  it  effaces  with  fool- 
ish noise,  — or  thoughtful,  sacred,  healthful,  artful,  for- 
15  ever  sanctifying  noble  thought  with  separately  distin- 
guished loveliness  of  belonging  sound,  — all  these  families 
and  gradations  of  good  or  evil,  however  mingled,  follow, 
in  so  far  as  they  are  good,  one  constant  law  of  virtue  (or 
^dif e-strength,"  which  is  the  literal  meaning  of  the  word, 
20  and  its  intended  one,  in  wise  men's  mouths),  and  in  so  far 
as  they  are  evil,  are  evil  by  outlawry  and  unvirtue,  or  death- 
weakness.  Then,  passing  wholly  beyond  the  domain  of 
death,  we  may  still  imagine  the  ascendant  nobleness  of 
the  art,  through  all  the  concordant  life  of  incorrupt  crea- 
25  tures,  and  a continually  deeper  harmony  of  '‘puissant 
words  and  murmurs  made  to  bless, until  we  reach 

^^The  undisturbed  song  of  pure  consent, 

Aye  sung  before  the  sapphire-colored  throne." 

142.  And  so  far  as  the  sister  arts  can  be  conceived  to  have 
30  place  or  office,  their  virtues  are  subject  to  a law  absolutely 
the  same  as  that  of  music,  only  extending  its  authority  into 
more  various  conditions,  owing  to  the  introduction  of  a 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


243 


distinctly  rei)resentative  and  historical  power,  which  acts 
under  logical  as  well  as  mathematical  restrictions,  and  is 
capable  of  endlessly  changeful  fault,  fallacy,  and  defeat, 
as  well  as  of  endlessly  manifold  victory. 

143.  Next  to  Modesty,  and  her  delight  in  measures,  let  5 

us  reflect  a little  on  the  character  of  her  adversary,  the 
Goddess  of  Liberty,  and  her  delight  in  absence  of  meas- 
ures, or  in  false  ones.  It  is  true  that  there  are  liberties  and 
liberties.  Yonder  torrent,  crystal-clear,  and  arrow-swift, 
with  its  spray  leaping  into  the  air  like  white  troops  of  10 
fawns,  is  free  enough.  Lost,  presently,  amidst  bankless, 
boundless  marsh  — soaking  in  slow  shallowness,  as  it  will, 
hither  and  thither,  listless,  among  the  poisonous  reeds 
and  unresisting  slime  — it  is  free  also.  We  may  choose 
which  liberty  we  like,  — the  restraint  of  voiceful  rock,  15 
or  the  dumb  and  edgeless  shore  of  darkened  sand.  Of 
that  evil  liberty  which  men  are  now  glorifying,  and  pro- 
claiming as  essence  of  gospel  to  all  the  earth,  and  will 
presently,  I suppose,  proclaim  also  to  the  stars,  with  in- 
vitation to  them  out  of  their  courses,  — and  of  its  opposite  2c 
continence,  which  is  the  clasp  and  of 

Aglaia's  cestus,  we  must  try  to  find  out  something  true. 
For  no  quality  of  Art  has  been  more  powerful  in  its  in- 
fluence on  |)ublic  mind ; none  is  more  frequently  the  sub- 
ject of  popular  praise,  or  the  end  of  vulgar  effort,  than 
what  we  call Freedom. It  is  necessary  to  determine  the 
justice  or  injustice  of  this  popular  praise. 

144.  I said,  a little  while  ago,  that  the  practical  teaching 
of  the  masters  of  Art  was  summed  by  the  O of  Giotto. 

You  may  judge  my  masterhood  of  craft, Giotto  tells  us,  3c 
^‘by  seeing  that  I can  draw  a circle  unerringly.^'  And  we 
may  safely  believe  him,  understanding  him  to  mean  that, 
though  more  may  be  necessary  to  an  artist  than  such  a 


244 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


power,  at  least  this  power  is  necessary.  The  qualities  of 
hand  and  eye  needful  to  do  this  are  the  first  conditions 
of  artistic  craft. 

145.  Try  to  draw  a circle  yourself  with  the  ^^free  hand, 
5 and  with  a single  line.  You  cannot  do  it  if  your  hand 

trembles,  nor  if  it  hesitates,  nor  if  it  is  unmanageable,  nor 
if  it  is  in  the  common  sense  of  the  word  ^Tree.^^  So  far 
from  being  free,  it  must  be  under  a control  as  absolute  and 
accurate  as  if  it  were  fastened  to  an  inflexible  bar  of  steel, 
lo  And  yet  it  must  move,  under  this  necessary  control,  with 
perfect,  untormented  serenity  of  ease. 

146.  That  is  the  condition  of  all  good  work  whatsoever. 
All  freedom  is  error.  Every  line  you  lay  down  is  either 
right  or  wrong ; it  may  be  timidly  and  awkwardly  wrong, 

15  or  fearless!}^  and  impudently  wrong.  The  aspect  of  the 
impudent  wrongness  is  pleasurable  to  vulgar  persons,  and 
is  what  they  commonly  call  ^Tree^^  execution;  the  timid, 
tottering,  hesitating  wrongness  is  rarely  so  attractive ; yet, 
sometimes,  if  accompanied  with  good  qualities,  and  right 
20  aims  in  other  directions,  it  becomes  in  a manner  charm- 
ing, like  the  inarticulateness  of  a child ; but,  whatever  the 
charm  or  manner  of  the  error,  there  is  but  one  question 
ultimately  to  be  asked  respecting  every  line  you  draw.  Is 
it  right  or  wrong?  If  right,  it  most  assuredly  is  not  a 
25^^  free  line,  but  an  intensely  continent,  restrained,  and 
considered  line ; and  the  action  of  the  hand  in  laying  it  is 
just  as  decisive,  and  just  as  ‘‘free,^^  as  the  hand  of  a first- 
rate  surgeon  in  a critical  incision.  A great  operator  told 
me  that  his  hand  could  check  itself  within  about  the  two- 
30  hundredth  of  an  inch,  in  penetrating  a membrane ; and 
this,  of  course,  without  the  help  of  sight,  by  sensation 
only.  With  help  of  sight,  and  in  action  on  a substance 
which  does  not  quiver  nor  yield,  a fine  artist’s  line  is  meas- 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


245 


urable  in  its  proposed  direction  to  considerably  less  than 
the  thousandth  of  an  inch. 

A wide  freedom,  truly  ! 

147.  The  conditions  of  popular  art  which  most  foster 
the  common  ideas  about  freedom,  are  merely  results  of  5 
irregularly  energetic  effort  by  men  imperfectly  educated ; 
these  conditions  being  variously  mingled  with  cruder 
mannerisms  resulting  from  timidity,  or  actual  imperfec- 
tion of  body.  Northern  hands  and  eyes  are,  of  course, 
never  so  subtle  as  Southern® ; and  in  very  cold  countries,  10 
artistic  execution  is  palsied.  The  effort  to  break  through 
this  timidity,  or  to  refine  the  bluntness,  may  lead  to  a 
licentious  impetuosity,  or  an  ostentatious  minuteness. 
Every  man^s  manner  has  this  kind  of  relation  to  some 
defect  in  his  physical  powers  or  modes  of  thought ; so  15 
that  in  the  greatest  work  there  is  no  manner  visible.  It 

is  at  first  uninteresting  from  its  quietness ; the  majesty 
of  restrained  power  only  dawns  gradually  upon  us,  as  we 
walk  towards  its  horizon. 

There  is,  indeed,  often  great  delightfulness  in  the  inno-  20 
cent  manners  of  artists  who  have  real  power  and  honesty, 
and  draw,  in  this  way  or  that,  as  best  they  can,  under 
such  and  such  untoward  circumstances  of  life.  But  the 
greater  part  of  the  looseness,  fiimsiness,  or  audacity  of 
modern  work  is  the  expression  of  an  inner  spirit  of  license  25 
in  mind  and  heart,  connected,  as  I said,  with  the  peculiar 
folly  of  this  age,  its  hope  of,  and  trust  in,  liberty, of 
which  we  must  reason  a little  in  more  general  terms. 

148.  I believe  we  can  nowhere  find  a better  type  of 

a perfectly  free  creature  than  in  the  common  house-fly.  30 

Nor  free  only,  but  brave;  and  irreverent  to  a degree 
which  I think  no  human  republican  could  by  any  philoso- 
phy exalt  himself  to.  There  is  no  courtesy  in  him;  he 


THE  QEEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


24(; 


does  not  rare  whetlier  it  is  kin.o;  or  down  whom  he  teases ; 
ana  in  every  step  of  his  swift  meehanieal  march,  and  in 
every  pause  of  his  resolute  observation,  there  is  one  and 
the  same  expression  of  perfect  egotism,  perfect  independ- 
5 ence  and  self-confidence,  and  conviction  of  the  world’s 
having  been  made  for  flies.  Strike  at  him  with  your  hand, 
and  to  him,  the  me(*hanical  fact  and  external  aspect  of 
the  matter  is,  what  to  you  it  would  be  if  an  acre  of  red  clay, 
ten  feet  thick,  tore  itself  up  from  the  ground  in  one  mas- 
losive  field,  hovered  over  you  in  the  air  for  a second,  and 
came  crashing  down  with  an  aim.  That  is  the  external 
aspect  of  it ; the  inner  aspect,  to  his  fly’s  mind,  is  of  a quite 
natural  and  unimportant  occurrence  — one  of  the  mo- 
mentary conditions  of  his  active  life.  He  steos  out  of  the 
15  way  of  your  hand,  and  alights  on  the  back  of  it.  You 
cannot  terrif}^  him,  nor  govern  him,  nor  persuade  him,  nor 
convince  him.  He  has  his  own  positive  opinion  on  all 
matters ; not  an  unwise  one,  usually,  for  his  own  ends ; 
and  will  ask  no  advice  of  yours.  He  has  no  work  to  do  — 
20  no  tyrannical  instinct  to  obey.  The  earthv  orm  has  his 
digging ; the  bee  her  gathering  and  building ; the  spider 
her  cunning  network;  the  ant  her  treasury  and  accounts. 
All  these  are  comparatively  slaves,  or  people  of  vulgar 
business.  But  your  fly,  free  in  the  air,  free  in  the  chamber 
25  — a black  incarnation  of  caprice,  wandering,  im  estigating, 
flitting,  flirting,  feasting  at  his  will,  with  rich  Aariety  of 
choice  in  feast,  from  the  heaped  sweets  in  the  grocer’s 
window  to  those  of  the  butcher’s  back  yard,  and  from  the 
galled  place  on  your  cab-horse’s  back,  to  the  brown  sf)ot 
30  in  the  road,  from  which,  as  the  hoof  disturbs  him,  he  rises 
with  angry  republican  buzz — what  freedom  is  like  his? 

149.  For  captivity,  again,  perha})s  your  poor  watch- 
dog is  as  sorrowful  a ty[)e  as  you  will  easily  find.  Aline 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


1M7 

certainly  is.  The  day  is  lovely,  but  I must  write  this, 
and  cannot  go  out  with  him.  He  is  chained  in  the  yard 
because  I do  not  like  dogs  in  rooms,  and  the  gardener  does 
not  like  dogs  in  gardens.  He  has  no  books,  — nothing 
but  his  own  weary  thoughts  for  com})any,  and  a group  of  5 
those  free  flies,  whom  he  sna})s  at,  with  sullen  ill  success. 
Such  dim  hope  as  he  may  have  that  I may  take  him  out 
with  me,  will  be,  hour  by  hour,  Avearily  disa})pointed ; or, 
worse,  darkened  at  once  into  a leaden  despair  by  an  author- 
itative ‘^No^'  — too  well  understood.  His  fidelity  only  10 
seals  his  fate ; if  he  wmuld  not  w atch  for  me,  he  would  be 
sent  away,  and  go  hunting  with  some  hajjpier  master : 
but  he  w’^atches,  and  is  wise,  and  faithful,  and  miserable ; 
and  his  high  animal  intellect  only  gives  him  the  wistful 
powers  of  wmnder,  and  sorrow,  and  desire,  and  affection,  15 
which  embitter  his  captivity.  Yet  of  the  two,  would  we 
rather  be  watch-dog  or  fly? 

150.  Indeed,  the  first  point  we  have  all  to  determine 
is  not  hoW'  free  w^e  are,  but  wdiat  kind  of  creatures  we  are. 

It  is  of  small  importance  to  any  of  us  whether  wm  get  20 
liberty ; but  of  the  greatest  that  wm  deserve  it.  Whether 
we  can  win  it,  fate  must  determine;  but  that  wx  will  be 
worthy  of  it  we  may  ourselves  determine  ; and  the  sorrow^- 
fullest  fate  of  all  that  we  can  suffer  is  to  have  it  without 
deserving  it.  25 

151.  I have  hardly  patience  to  hold  my  pen  and  go  on 
wi-iting,  as  I remember  (I  would  that  it  w^ere  possible  for  a 
few  consecutive  instants  to  forget)  the  infinite  follies  of 
modern  thought  in  this  matter,  centred  in  the  notion  that 
liberty  is  good  for  a man,  irrespectively  of  the  use  he  is  30 
likely  to  make  of  it.  Folly  unfathomable!  unspeakable! 
unendurable  to  look  in  the  full  face  of,  as  the  laugh  of  a 
cretin. ° You  will  send  your  child,  will  you,  into  a room 


248 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


where  the  table  is  loaded  with  sweet  wine  and  fruit  — 
some  poisoned,  some  not  ? — you  will  say  to  him,  ‘^Choose 
freely,  my  little  child  ! It  is  so  good  for  you  to  have  free- 
dom of  choice ; it  forms  your  character  — your  individu- 
5 ality ! If  you  take  the  wrong  cup  or  the  wrong  berry, 
you  will  die  before  the  day  is  over,  but  you  will  have 
acquired  the  dignity  of  a Free  child 

152.  You  think  that  puts  the  case  too  sharply?  I tell 
you,  lover  of  liberty,  there  is  no  choice  offered  to  you,  but 
lo  it  is  similarly  between  life  and  death.  There  is  no  act,  nor 
option  of  act,  possible,  but  the  wrong  deed  or  option  has 
poison  in  it  which  will  stay  in  your  veins  thereafter  forever. 
Never  more  to  all  eternit}^  can  you  be  as  }mu  might  have 
been  had  you  not  done  that  — chosen  that.  You  have 
i5  ^'formed  your  character, forsooth ! No;  if  you  have 
chosen  ill,  you  have  De-formed  it,  and  that  forever  ! In 
some  choices  it  had  been  better  for  you  that  a red-hot  iron 
bar  struck  you  aside,  scarred  and  helpless,  than  that  you 
had  so  chosen.  You  will  know  better  next  time  \ No. 
20  Next  time  will  never  come.  Next  time  the  choice  will  be 
in  quite  another  aspect  — between  quite  different  things, — 
you,  weaker  than  you  were  by  the  evil  into  which  you  have 
fallen;  it,  more  doubtful  than  it  was,  by  the  increased 
dimness  of  your  sight.  No  one  ever  gets  wiser  by  doing 
25  wrong,  nor  stronger.  You  will  get  wiser  and  stronger 
only  by  doing  right,  whether  forced  or  not ; the  prime,  the 
one  need  is  to  do  that,  under  whatever  compulsion,  until 
you  can  do  it  without  compulsion.  And  then  you  are  a 
Man.° 

30  153.  What ! a wayward  youth  might  perhaps  answer, 

incredulously,  ^^no  one  ever  gets  wiser  by  doing  wrong? 
Shall  I not  know  the  world  best  by  tr\  ing  the  wrong  of  it, 
and  repenting  ? Have  I not,  even  as  it  is,  learned  much  by 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


249 


many  of  my  errors  Indeed,  the  effort  by  which  par- 
tially you  recovered  yourself  was  precious;  that  part  of 
your  thought  by  w^hich  you  discerned  the  error  was  pre- 
cious. What  wisdom  and  strength  you  kept,  and  rightly 
used,  are  rewarded ; and  in  the  pain  and  the  repentance,  5 
and  in  the  acquaintance  with  the  aspects  of  folly  and  sin, 
you  have  learned  something;  how  much  less  than  }mu 
would  have  learned  in  right  paths  can  never  be  told,  but 
that  it  is  less  is  certain.  Your  liberty  of  choice  has  simply 
destroyed  for  you  so  much  life  and  strength,  never  regain-  10 
able.  It  is  true,  you  now  know  the  habits  of  swine,  and 
the  taste  of  husks ; do  you  think  your  father  could  not 
have  taught  you  to  know  better  habits  and  pleasanter 
tastes,  if  you  had  stayed  in  his  house®;  and  that  the 
knowledge  you  have  lost  would  not  have  been  more,  as  well  15 
as  sw^eeter,  than  that  you  have  gained  ? But  ^^it  so  forms 
my  individuality  to  be  free!^^  Your  individuality  was 
given  you  by  God,  and  in  your  race,  and  if  you  have  any 
to  speak  of,  you  will  want  no  liberty.  You  will  want  a den 
to  work  in,  and  peace,  and  light  — no  more,  — in  absolute  20 
need ; if  more,  in  anywdse,  it  will  still  not  be  liberty,  but 
direction,  instruction,  reproof,  and  sympathy.  But  if  you 
have  no  individuality,  if  there  is  no  true  character  nor 
true  desire  in  you,  then  you  will  indeed  w^ant  to  be  free. 
You  will  begin  early,  and,  as  a boy,  desire  to  be  a man ; 25 
and,  as  a man,  think  yourself  as  good  as  every  other. 
You  will  choose  freely  to  eat,  freely  to  drink,  freely  to 
stagger  and  fall,  freely,  at  last,  to  curse  yourself  and  die. 
Death  is  the  only  real  freedom  possible  to  us ; and  that  is 
consummate  freedom,  permission  for  every  particle  in  the  30 
rotting  body  to  leave  its  neighbor  particle,  and  shifr  for 
itself.  You  call  it  corruptions^  in  the  flesh;  but  before 
it  comes  to  that,  all  liberty  ig  an  equal  corruption  in  mind. 


250 


THE  QUEEN  OE  THE  AIH 


You  ask  for  freedom  of  thought ; but  if  you  have  not  suffix 
cient  grounds  for  thought,  you  have  no  business  to  think; 
and  if  you  have  sufficient  grounds,  you  have  no  business 
to  think  wrong.  Only  one  thought  is  possible  to  you  if 
5 you  are  wise  — your  liberty  is  geometrically  proportionate 
to  your  folly. 

154.  ‘‘But  all  this  glory  and  activity  of  our  age;  what 
are  they  owing  to,  but  to  our  freedom  of  thought  ? In  a 
measure,  they  are  owing  — what  good  is  in  them  — to  the 
lo  discovery  of  many  lies,  and  the  escape  from  the  power  of 
evil.  Not  to  liberty,  but  to  the  deliverance  from  evil  or 
cruel  masters.  Brave  men  have  dared  to  examine  lies 
which  had  long  been  taught,  not  because  they  were  free- 
thinkers,  but  because  they  were  such  stern  and  close 
15  thinkers  that  the  lie  could  no  longer  escape  them.  Of 
course  the  restriction  of  thought,  or  of  its  expression,  by 
persecution,  is  merely  a form  of  violence,  justifiable  or  not, 
as  other  violence  is,  according  to  the  character  of  the 
persons  against  whom  it  is  exercised,  and  the  divine  and 
20  eternal  laws  which  it  vindicates  or  violates.  We  must  not 
burn  a man  alive  for  saying  that  the  Athanasian  creed°  is 
ungrammatical,  nor  stop  a bishop  ^s  salary  because  we  are 
getting  the  worst  of  an  argument  with  him  ; neither  must 
we  let  drunken  men  howl  in  the  public  streets  at  night. 
25  There  is  much  that  is  true  in  the  part  of  Mr.  ^lill’s®  essay 
on  Liberty  which  treats  of  freedom  of  thought ; some  im- 
portant truths  are  there  beautifully  expressed,  but  many, 
quite  vital,  are  omitted ; and  the  balance,  therefore,  is 
wrongly  struck.  The  liberty  of  expression,  with  a great 
30  nation,  would  become  like  that  in  a well-educated  com- 
pany, in  which  there  is  indeed  freedom  of  speech,  but  not 
of  clamor;  or  like  that  in  an  ordevlv  senate,  in  which  men 
who  deserve  to  be  heard,  are  heard  in  du(‘  time,  and  under 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


251 


determined  restrictioiLS.  The  degree  of  liberty  you  can 
rightly  grant  to  a number  of  men  is  in  the  inverse  ratio  of 
their  desire  for  it ; and  a general  hush,  or  call  to  order, 
would  be  often  very  desirable  in  this  England  of  ours. 
For  the  rest,  of  any  good  or  evil  extant,  it  is  impossible  to  5 
say  what  measure  is  owing  to  restraint,  and  what  to  license 
where  the  right  is  balanced  between  them.  I was  not  a 
little  provoked  one  day,  a summer  or  two  since,  in  Scot- 
land, because  the  Duke  of  Athol  hindered  me  from  ex- 
amining the  gneiss  and  slate  junctions  in  Glen  Tilt,®  at  10 
the  hour  convenient  to  me ; but  I saw  them  at  last,  and  in 
(piietness;  and  to  the  very  restriction  that  annoyed  me, 
owed,  probably,  the  fact  of  their  being  in  existence,  in- 
stead of  being  blasted  away  by  a mob-company ; while  the 
^Tree^’  paths  and  inlets  of  Loch  Katrine®  and  the  Lake  15 
of  Geneva  are  forever  trampled  down  and  destroyed, 
not  by  one  duke,  but  by  tens  of  thousands  of  ignorant 
tyrants. 

155.  So,  a Dean  and  Chapter®  may,  perhaps,  unjusti- 
fiably charge  me  twopence  for  seeing  a cathedral ; but  20 
your  free  mob  pulls  spire  and  all  down  about  my  ears,  and 

I can  see  it  no  more  forever.  And  even  if  I cannot  get  up 
to  the  granite  junctions  in  the  glen,  the  stream  comes  down 
from  them  pure  to  the  Garry ; but  in  Beddington  Park  I 
am  stopped  by  the  newly-erected  fence  of  a building  25 
speculator;  and  the  bright  Wandel,  divine  of  waters  as 
Castaly,®  is  filled  by  the  free  public  with  old  shoes,  obscene 
crockery,  and  ashes. 

156.  In  fine,  the  arguments  for  liberty  may  in  general 

be  summed  in  a few  very  simple  forms,  as  follows-:  — 30 

Misguiding  is  mischievous : therefore  guiding  is. 

If  the  blind  lead  the  blind,  both  fall  into  the  ditch®: 
therefore,  nobody  should  lead  ;mybod}v 


252 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


Lambs  and  fawns  should  be  left  free  in  the  fields ; much 
more  bears  and  wolves. 

If  a man^s  gun  and  shot  are  his  own,  he  may  fire  in  any 
direction  he  pleases. 

5 A fence  across  a road  is  inconvenient ; much  more  one 
at  the  side  of  it. 

Babes  should  not  be  swaddled  with  their  hands  bound 
down  to  their  sides : therefore  they  should  be  thrown  out 
to  roll  in  the  kennels  naked. 

lo  None  of  these  arguments  are  good,  and  the  practical 
issues  of  them  are  worse.  For  there  are  certain  eternal 
laws  for  human  conduct  which  are  quite  clearly  discern- 
ible by  human  reason.  So  far  as  these  are  discovered  and 
obeyed,  by  whatever  machinery  or  authority  the  obedi- 
15  ence  is  procured,  there  follow  life  and  strength.  So  far 
as  they  are  disobeyed,  by  whatever  good  intention  the 
disobedience  is  brought  about,  there  follow  ruin  and  sor- 
row. And  the  first  duty  of  every  man  in  the  world  is  to 
find  his  true  master,  and,  for  his  own  good,  submit  to  him ; 
20  and  to  find  his  true  inferior,  and,  for  that  inferior's  good, 
conquer  him.  The  punishment  is  sure,  if  we  either  refuse 
the  reverence,  or  are  too  cowardly  and  indolent  to  enforce 
the  compulsion.  A base  nation  crucifies  or  poisons  its 
wise  men,  and  lets  its  fools  rave  and  rot  in  its  streets.  A 
25  wise  nation  obeys  the  one,  restrains  the  other,  and  cher- 
ishes all. 

157.  The  best  examples  of  the  results  of  wise  normal 
discipline  in  Art  will  be  foimd  in  whatever  evidence  re- 
mains respecting  the  lives  of  great  Italian  painters,  though, 
30  unhappily,  in  eras  of  progress,  but  just  in  proportion  to 
the  admirableness  and  efficiency  of  the  life,  will  be  usually 
the  scantiness  of  its  history.  The  individualities  and  lib- 
erties which  are  causes  of  destruction  may  be  recorded ; 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


. but  the  loyal  conditions  of  daily  breath  are  never  told. 
Because  Leonardo  made  models  of  machines,  dug  canals, 
built  fortifications,  and  dissipated  half  his  art-power  in 
capricious  ingenuities,  we  have  many  anecdotes  of  him ; — 
but  no  picture  of  importance  on  canvas,  and  only  a few  5 
withered  stains  of  one  upon  a wall.  But  because  his  pupil, 
or  reputed  pupil,  Luini,°  labored  in  constant  and  successful 
simplicity,  we  have  no  anecdotes  of  him ; — only  hundreds 
of  noble  works.  Luini  is,  perhaps,  the  best  central  type 
of  the  highly-trained  Italian  painter.  He  is  the  only  man  ic 
who  entirely  united  the  religious  temper  which  was  the 
spirit-life  of  art,  with  the  physical  power  which  was  its 
bodily  life.  He  joins  the  purity  and  passion  of  Angelico® 
to  the  strength  of  Veronese® : the  two  elements,  poised  in 
perfect  balance,  are  so  calmed  and  restrained,  each  by  the  15 
other,  that  most  of  us  lose  the  sense  of  both.  The  artist 
does  not  see  the  strength,  by  reason  of  the  chastened  spirit 
in  which  it  is  used : and  the  religious  visionary  does  not 
recognize  the  passion,  by  reason  of  the  frank  human  truth 
with  w^hich  it  is  rendered.  He  is  a man  ten  times  greater  20 
than  Leonardo ; — a mighty  colorist,  while  Leonardo  was 
only  a fine  draughtsman  in  black,  staining  the  chiaroscuro 
drawing,  like  a colored  print : he  perceived  and  rendered 
the  delicatest  types  of  human  beauty  that  have  been 
painted  since  the  days  of  the  Greeks,  while  Leonardo  de-  25 
praved  his  finer  instincts  by  caricature,  and  remained  to 
the  end  of  his  days  the  slave  of  an  archaic  smile : and  he 
is  a designer  as  frank,  instinctive,  and  exhaustless  as  Tin- 
toret,  while  Leonardo's  design  is  only  an  agony  of  sci- 
ence, admired  chiefly  because  it  is  painful,  and  capable  of  3^ 
analysis  in  its  best  accomplishment.  Luini  has  left  noth- 
ing behind  him  that  is  not  lovely ; but  of  his  life  I believe 
hardly  anything  is  known  beyond  remmants  of  tradition 


254 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


which  murmur  about  Lugano®  and  Saronno,®  and  which, 
remain  ungleaned.  This  onlv  is  certain,  that  he  was  born 
in  the  loveliest  district  of  North  Italy,  where  hills,  and 
streams,  and  air  meet  in  softest  harmonies.  Child  of 
5 the  Alps,  and  of  their  divinest  lake,  he  is  taught,  without 
doubt  or  dismay,  a lofty  religious  creed,  and  a sufficient 
law  of  life  and  of  its  mechanical  arts.  Whether  les- 
soned by  Leonardo  himself,  or  merely  one  of  many  disci^ 
jdined  in  the  system  of  the  Milanese  school,®  he  learns 
lo  unerringly  to  draw,  unerringly  and ' enduringly  to  paint. 
His  tasks  are  set  him  without  cjuestion  day  by  day, 
by  men  who  are  justly  satisfied  with  his  work,  and  who 
accept  it  without  any  harmful  praise,  or  senseless  blame. 
Place,  scale,  and  subject  are  determined  for  him  on  the 
15  cloister  wall  or  the  church  dome ; as  he  is  required,  and 
for  sufficient  daily  bread,  and  little  more,  he  paints  what 
he  has  been  taught  to  design  wisely,  and  has  passion  to 
realize  gloriously : every  touch  he  lays  is  eternal,  every 
thought  he  conceives  is  beautiful  and  pure:  his  hand 
20  moves  always  in  radiance  of  blessing ; from  day  to  day  his 
life  enlarges  in  power  and  peace ; it  passes  away  cloud- 
lessly, the  starry  twilight  remaining  arched  ar  agains^ 
the  night. 

158.  Oppose  to  such  a life  as  this  that  of  a great  painter 
25  amidst  the  elements  of  modern  English  liberty.  Take  the 
life  of  Turner,  in  whom  the  artistic  energy  and  inherent 
love  of  beauty  were  at  least  as  strong  as  in  Luir  A : but, 
amidst  the  disorder  and  ghastliness  of  the  lower  streets  of 
London,  his  instincts  in  early  .infancy  were  warped  into 
30  toleration  of  evil,  or  even  into  delight  in  it.®  He  gathers 
what  he  can  of  instruction  by  (|uestioning  and  prying 
among  half-informed  masters ; spells  out  some  knowledge 
of  classical  fable  ; educates  himself,  by  an  admirable  force, 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


to  the  i)rocluction  of  wildly  majestic  or  pathetically  tender 
and  pure  pictures,  by  which  he  cannot  live.  There  is  no 
one  to  judge  them,  or  to  command  him  : only  some  of  the 
English  upper  classes  hire  him  to  paint  their  houses  and 
parks,  and  destroy  the  drawings  afterwards  by  the  most  5 
wanton  neglect.  Tired  of  laboring  carefully,  without 
either  reward  or  praise,  he  dashes  out  into  various  experi- 
mental and  popular  works  — makes  himself  the  servant 
of  the  lower  public,  and  is  dragged  hither  and  thither  at 
their  will;  while  yet,  helpless  and  guideless,  he  indulges  10 
his  idiosyncrasies  till  they  change  into  insanities ; the 
strength  of  his  soul  increasing  its  sufferings,  and  giving 
force  to  its  errors ; all  the  purpose  of  life  degenerating  into 
instinct;  and  the  web  of  his  work  wrought,  at  last,  of 
beauties  too  subtle  to  be  understood,  his  liberty,  with  1 5 
vices  too  singular  to  be  forgiven  — all  useless,  because 
magnificent  idiosyncrasy^  had  become  solitude,  or  conten- 
tion, in  the  midst  of  a reckless  populace,  instead  of  sub- 
mitting itself  in  loyal  harmony  to  the  Art-laws  of  an  un  - 
derstanding nation.  And  the  life  passed  away  in  darkness ; 20 
and  its  final  work,  in  all  the  best  beauty  of  it,  has  already 
perished,  only  enough  remaining  to  teach  us  what  we 
have  lost. 

159.  These  are  the  opposite  effects  of  Law  and  of  Liberty 
on  men  of  the  highest  powers.  In  the  case  of  inferiors  25 
the  contrast  is  still  more  fatal : under  strict  law,  they 
become  the  subordinate  workers  in  great  schools,  healthily 
aiding,  echoing,  or  supplying,  with  multitudinous  force  of 
hand,  the  mind  of  the  leading  masters  : they  are  the  name- 
less carvers  of  great  architect  ure  — stainers  of  glass  — 3c 
hammerers  of  iron  — helpful  scholars,  whose  work  ranks 
^round,  if  not  with,  their  master’s,  and  never  disgraces  it. 
But  the  inferiors  under  a system  of  license  for  the  most 


256 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


part  perish  in  miserable  effort ; ^ a few  struggle  into  perni- 
cious eminence  — harmful  alike  to  themselves  and  to  all 
who  admire  them ; many  die  of  starvation ; many  insane, 
either  in  weakness  of  insolent  egotism,  like  Haydon,®  or  in 
5 a conscientious  agony  of  beautiful  purpose  and  warped 
power,  like  Blake.®  There  is  no  probability  of  the 
persistence  of  a licentious  school  in  any  good  accidentally 

1 As  I correct  this  sheet  for  press,  my  “PaU  Mall  Gazette”  of 
last  Saturday,  April  17,  is  lying  on  the  table  by  me.  I print  a 
lo  few  lines  out  of  it:  — 

‘‘An  Artist’s  Death.  — A sad  story  was  told  at  an  inquest  held 
in  St.  Pancras  last  night  by  Dr.  Lankester  on  the  body  of  . . ., 
aged  fifty-nine,  a French  artist,  who  was  found  dead  in  his  bed 
at  his  rooms  in  . . . Street.  M.  . . .,  also  an  artist,  said  he 
15  had  known  the  deceased  for  fifteen  years.  He  once  held  a high 
position,  and  being  anxious  to  make  a name  in  the  world,  he  live 
years  ago  commenced  a large  picture,  which  he  hoped,  when  com- 
pleted, to  have  in  the  gallery  at  Versailles;  and  with  that  view  he 
sent  a photograph  of  it  to  the  French  Emperor.®  He  also  had  an 
20  idea  of  sending  it  to  the  English  Royal  Academy.  He  labored  on 
this  picture,  neglecting  other  work  which  would  have  paid  him 
well,  and  gradually  sank  lower  and  lower  into  poverty.  His 
friends  assisted  him,  but  being  absorbed  in  his  great  work,  he 
did  not  heed  their  advice,  and  they  left  him.  He  was,  however, 
25  assisted  by  the  French  Ambassador,  and  last  Saturday,  he  (the 
witness)  saw  deceased,  who  was  much  depressed  in  spirits,  as  he 
expected  the  brokers  to  be  put  in  possession  for  rent.  He  said 
his  troubles  were  so  great  that  he  feared  his  brain  would  give 
way.  The  witness  gave  him  a shilling,  for  y/hich  he  appeared 
30  very  thankful.  On  Monday  the  witness  called  upon  him,  but 
received  no  answer  to  his  knock.  He  went  again  on.  Tuesday, 
and  entered  the  deceased’s  bedroom,  and  found  him  dead.  Dr. 
George  Ross  said  that  when  called  in  to  the  deceased  he  had  been 
dead  at  least  two  days.  The  room  was  in  a filthy,  dirty  condition, 
35  and  the  picture  referred  to  — certainly  a very  fine  one  — was  in 
that  room.  The  post-mortem  examination  showed  that  the  cause 
of  death  was  fatty  degenerntion  of  the  heart,  the  latter  probably 
having  ceased  its  action  through  the  mental  excitement  of  thC' 
deceased.” 


ATHENA  IN  THE  IIEAHT 


25? 


discovered  by  them;  there  is  an  approximate  certainty 
of  their  gathering,  with  acclaim,  round  any  shadow  of  evil, 
and  following  to  whatever  quarter  of  destruction  it  may 
lead. 

160.  Thus  far  the  notes  on  Freedom.  Now,  lastly,  here  5 
is  some  talk  w^hich  I tried  at  the  time  to  make  intelligible ; 
and  wuth  which  I close^this  volume,  because  it  will  serve 
sufficiently  to  express  the  practical  relation  in  which  I 
think  the  art  and  imagination  of  the  Greeks  stand  to  our 
own ; and  will  show  the  reader  that  my  view  of  that  re-  10 
lation  is  unchanged,  from  the  first  day  on  which  I began  to 
write,  until  now. 


THE  HERCULES  OF  CAMARINA 

ADDRESS  TO  THE  STUDENTS  OF  THE  ART  SCHOOL  OF 

SOUTH  LAMBERT,  MARCH  15,  1869  15 

161.  Among  the  photographs  of  Greek  coins  which 
present  so  many  admirable  subjects  for  your  study,  I must 
speak  for  the  present  of  one  only : the  Hercules  of  Cama- 
rina.°  You  have,  represented  by  a Greek  workman,  in  that 
coin,  the  face  of  a man,  and  the  skin  of  a lion^s  head.  And  20 
the  man^s  face  is  like  a man^s  face,  but  the  lion^s  skin  is  not 
like  a lion’s  skin. 

162.  Now  there  are  some  people  who  will  tell  you  that 

Greek  art  is  fine,  because  it  is  true ; and  because  it  carves 
men’s  faces  as  like  men’s  as  it  can.  25 

And  there  are  other  people  who  will  tell  you  that  Greek 
art  is  fine,  because  it  is  not  true ; and  carves  a lion’s  skin 
so  as  to  look  not  at  all  like  a lion’s  skin. 


s 


258 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  Aik 


And  you  fancy  that  one  or  other  of  these  sets  of  people 
must  be  wrong,  and  are  perhaps  much  puzzled  to  find  out 
which  you  should  believe. 

But  neither  of  them  are^  wrong,  and  you  will  have 
5 eventually  to  believe,  or  rather  to  understand  and  know, 
in  reconciliation,  the  truths  taught  by  each ; but  for  the 
present,  the  teachers  of  the  first  group  are  those  you  must 
follow. 

It  is  they  who  tell  you  the  deepest  and  usefullest  truth, 
ro  which  involves  all  others  in  time.  Greek  art,  and  all  other 
art,  is  fine  when  it  makes  a maids  face  as  like  a man’s  face 
as  it  can.  Hold  to  that.  All  kinds  of  nonsense  are  talked 
to  you,  now-a-days,  ingeniously  and  irrelevantly  about  art. 
Therefore,  for  the  most  part  of  the  da}",  shut  your  ears,  and 
15  keep  your  eyes  open  : and  understand  primarily,  what  you 
may,  I fancy,  understand  easily,  that  the  greatest  masters 
of  all  greatest  schools  — Phidias,  Donatello,  Titian,  Velas- 
quez, or  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds®  — all  tried  to  make  human 
creatures  as  like  human  creatures  as  they  could ; and  that 
20  anything  less  like  humanity  than  their  work,  is  not  so  good 
as  theirs. 

Get  that  well  driven  into  your  heads ; and  doiiT  let  it 
out  again,  at  your  peril. 

163.  Having  got  it  well  in,  you  may  then  further  under- 
25  stand,  safely,  that  there  is  a great  deal  of  secondary  work 
in  pots,  and  pans,  and  floors,  and  carpets,  and  shawls, 
and  architectural  ornament,  which  ought,  essentially,  to 
be  unlike  reality,  and  to  depend  for  its  charm  on  (luite 
other  qualities  than  imitative  ones.  But  all  such  art  is 
30  inferior  and  secondary  — much  of  it  more  or  less  instinc- 
tive and  animal,  and  a civilized  human  creature  can  only 
learn  its  principles  rightly,  by  knowing  those  of  great  civ- 
ilized art  first  — which  is  always  the  representation,  to  thu 

’[is] 


ATHKNA  IN'  TUK  HKAKT 


utmost  of  its  power,  of  whatever  it  has  got  to  sliow  - - 
made  to  look  as  like  the  thing  as  possible.  Go  into  th(‘ 
National  Gallery,  and  look  at  the  foot  of  Correggio’s"^ 
\’^enus  there.  Correggio  made  it  as  like  a foot  as  he  coukl, 
and  you  won’t  easily  find  anything  liker.°  Now,  you  will  5 
find  on  any  Greek  vase  something  meant  for  a foot,  or  a 
hand,  which  is  not  at  all  like  one.  The  Greek  vase  is  a 
good  thing  in  its  way,  but  Correggio’s  picture  is  the  best 
work. 

164.  So,  again,  go  into  the  Turner  room  of  the  National  ic 
Galler}^,  and  look  at  Turner’s  drawing  of  ^^Ivy  Bridge.” 
You  will  find  the  water  in  it  is  like  real  water,  and  the  ducks 
in  it  are  like  real  ducks.  Then  go  into  the  British  ^lu- 
seum,  and  look  for  an  Egyptian  landscape,  and  you  will 
find  the  water  in  that  constituted  of  blue  zigzags,  not  at  all  15 
like  water ; and  ducks  in  the  middle  of  it  made  of  red  lines, 
looking  not  in  the  least  as  if  they  could  stand  stuffing  with 
sage  and  onions.  They  are  very  good  in  their  way,  but 
Turner’s  are  better. 

165.  I will  not  pause  to  fence  my  general  principle  20 
against  what  you  perfectly  well  know  of  the  due  con- 
tradiction, — that  a thing  may  be  painted  very  like,  yet 
painted  ill.  Rest  content  with  knowing  that  it  must  be 
like,  if  it  is  painted  well ; and  take  this  further  general 
law : Imitation  is  like  charity.  When  it  is  done  for  love  it  25 
is  lovely ; when  it  is  done  for  show,  hateful. 

166.  Well,  then,  this  Greek  coin  is  fine,  first  because 
the  face  is  like  a face.  Perhaps  you  think  there  is  some- 
thing particularly  handsome  in  the  face,  which  you  can’t 
see  in  the  photograph,  or  can’t  at  present  appreciate.  But  30 
there  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  It  is  a very  regular,  quiet, 
commonplace  sort  of  face;  and  any  average  English 
gentleman’s,  of  good  descent,  would  be  far  handsomer. 


260  THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 

167.  Fix  that  in  your  heads  also,  therefore,  that  Greek 
faces  are  not  particularly  beautiful.  Of  the  much  non- 
sense against  which  you  are  to  keep  your  ears  shut,  that 
which  is  talked  to  you  of  the  Greek  ideal  of  beauty  is 

5 among  the  absolutest.  There  is  not  a single  instance  of  a 
very  beautiful  head  left  by  the  highest  school  of  Greek 
art.  On  coins,  there  is  even  no  approximately  beautiful 
one.  The  Juno  of  Argos®  is  a virago;  the  Athena  of 
Athens  grotesque,  the  Athena  of  Corinth®  is  insipid ; and 
lo  of  Thurium,®  sensual.  The  Siren  Ligeia,®  and  fountain 
of  Arethusa,®  on  the  coins  of  Terina  and  Syracuse,® 
are  prettier,  but  totally  without  expression,  and  chiefly 
set  off  by  their  well-curled  hair.  You  might  have  ex- 
pected something  subtle  in  Mercuries ; but  the  Mercury  of 
15  iEnus®  is  a very  stupid-looking  fellow,  in  a cap  like  a bowl, 
with  a knob  on  the  top  of  it.  The  Bacchus  of  Thasos®  is 
a drayman  with  his  hair  pomatumM.®  The  Jupiter  of 
Syracuse  is,  however,  calm  and  refined;  and  the  Apollo 
of  Clazomenae®  would  have  been  impressive,  if  he  had  not 
20  come  down  to  us  much  flattened  by  friction.  But  on  the 
whole,  the  merit  of  Greek  coins  does  not  primarily  depend 
on  beauty  of  features,  nor  even,  in  the  period  of  highest 
art,  that  of  the  statues.  You  may  take  the  Venus  of 
Melos®  as  a standard  of  beauty  of  the  central  Greek  type. 
25  She  has  tranquil,  regular,  and  lofty  features;  but  could 
not  hold  her  own  for  a moment  against  the  beauty  of  a 
simple  English  girl,  of  pure  race  and  kind  heart. 

168.  And  the  reason  that  Greek  art,  on  the  whole,  bores 
you  (and  you  know  it  does),  is  that  you  are  always  forced 

30  to  look  in  it  for  something  that  is  not  there ; but  which 
may  be  seen  every  day,  in  real  life,  all  round  you ; and 
which  you  are  naturally  disposed  to  delight  in,  and  ought 
to  delight  in.  For  the  Greek  race  was  not  at  all  one  of 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


261 


exalted  beauty,  but  only  of  general  and  healthy  complete- 
ness of  form.  They  were  only,  and  could  be  only,  beauti- 
ful in  body  to  the  degree  that  they  were  beautiful  in  soul 
(for  you  will  find,  when  you  read  deeply  into  the  matter, 
that  the  body  is  only  the  soul  made  visible) . And  the  s 
Greeks  were  indeed  very  good  people,  much  better  people 
than  most  of  us  think,  or  than  many  of  us  are ; but  there 
are  better  people  alive  now  than  the  best  of  them,  and 
lovelier  people  to  be  seen  now  than  the  loveliest  of  them. 

169.  Then  what  are  the  merits  of  this  Greek  art,  which  lo 
make  it  so  exemplary  for  you  ? Well,  not  that  it  is  beauti- 
ful, but  that  it  is  Right. ^ All  that  it  desires  to  do,  it  does, 
and  all  that  it  does,  does  well.  You  will  find,  as  you  ad- 
vance in  the  knowledge  of  art,  that  its  laws  of  self-restraint 
are  very  marvellous ; that  its  peace  of  heart,  and  content-  15 
ment  in  doing  a simple  thing,  with  only  one  or  Gvo  fjuali- 
ties,  restrictedly  desired,  and  sufficiently  attained,  are  a 
most  wholesome  element  of  education  for  you,  as  opposed 
to  the  wdld  writhing,  and  wrestling,  and  longing  for  the 
moon,  and  tilting  at  windmills,  and  agony  of  eyes,  and  20 
torturing  of  fingers,  and  general  spinning  out  of  one^s 
soul  into  fiddle-strings, ° which  constitute  the  ideal  life  of  a 
modern  artist. 

Also  observe,  there  is  entire  masterhood  of  its  business 
up  to  the  required  point.  A Greek  does  not  reach  after  25 
other  people’s  strength,  nor  outreach  his  own.  He  never 
tries  to  paint  before  he  can  draw;  he  never  tries  to  lay 
on  flesh  where  there  are  no  bones ; and  he  never  expects  to 
find  the  bones  of  anything  in  his  inner  consciousness. 
Those  are  his  first  merits  — sincere  and  innocent  purpose,  30 
strong  common  sense  and  principle,  and  all  the  strength 


^ Compare  above,  § 101. 


262 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


that  comes  of  these,  and  all  the  grace  that  follows  on  that 
strength. 

170.  But,  secondly,  Greek  art  is  always  exemplary  in 
disposition  of  masses,  which  is  a thing  that  in  modern  days 

5 students  rarely  look  for,  artists  not  enough,  and  the  public 
never.  But,  whatever  else  Greek  work  ma';  fail  of,  you 
may  be  always  sure  its  masses  are  well  placed,  and 
their  placing  has  been  the  object  of  the  most  subtle  care. 
Look,  for  instance,  at  the  inscription  in  front  of  this  Her- 
lo  cules  of  the  name  of  the  town  — Camarina.  You  can’t 
read  it,  even  though  you  may  know  Greek,  without  some 
pains ; for  the  sculptor  knew  well  enough  that  it  mattered 
very  little  whether  you  read  it  or  not,  for  the  Camarina 
Hercules  could  tell  his  own  story ; but  what  did  above  all 
15  things  matter  was,  that  no  K or  A or  M should  come  in  a 
wrong  place  with  respect  to  the  outline  of  the  head,  and 
divert  the  eye  from  it,  or  spoil  any  of  its  lines.  So  the 
whole  inscription  is  thrown  into  a sweeping  curve  of 
gradually  diminishing  size,  continuing  from  the  lion’s 
20  paws,  round  the  neck,  up  to  the  forehead,  and  answering 
a decorative  purpose  as  completely  as  the  curls  of  the  mane 
opposite.  Of  these,  again,  you  cannot  change  or  displace 
one  without  mischief  ; they  are  almost  as  even  in  reticula- 
tion as  a piece  of  basket-work ; but  each  has  a different 
25  form  and  a due  relation  to  the  rest,  and  if  you  set  to  work 
to  draw  that  mane  rightly,  you  will  find  that,  whatever 
time  you  give  to  it,  you  can’t  get  the  tresses  quite  into  their 
places,  and  that  every  tress  out  of  its  place  does  an  injury. 
If  you  want  to  test  your  powers  of  accurate  drawing,  you 
30  may  make  that  lion’s  mane  your  nsinorum,^  I have 
never  yet  met  with  a student  who  didn’t  make  an  ass  in  a 
lion’s  skin  of  him -elf,  when  he  tried  it. 

171.  Granted,  however,  that  these  tresses  may  be 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


2G3 


finely  placed,  still  they  are  not  like  a lion^s  mane.  So  we 
come  back  to  the  (piestion,  — if  the  face  is  to  be  like  a. 
man^s  face,  why  is  not  the  lion^s  mane  to  be  like  a lion^s 
mane?  Well,  because  it  can't  be  like  a lion's  mane  with- 
out too  much  trouble,  — and  inconvenience  after  that,  5 
and  poor  success  after  all.  Too  much  trouble,  in  cutting 
the  die  into  fine  fringes  and  jags ; inconvenience  after 
that,  — because  fringes  and  jags  would  spoil  the  surface 
of  a coin;  poor  success  after  all,  — because,  though  you 
can  easily  stamp  cheeks  and  foreheads  smooth  at  a blow,  lo 
you  can't  stamp  projecting  tresses  fine  at  a blow,  whatever 
pains  you  take  with  your  die. 

So  your  Greek  uses  his  common  sense,  wastes  no  time, 
uses  no  skill,  and  says  to  you,  ‘‘Here  are  beautifully  set 
tresses,  which  I have  carefully  designed  and  easily  stamped.  15 
Enjoy  them,  and  if  you  cannot  understand  that  they  mean 
lion's  mane,  heaven  mend  your  wits." 

172.  See,  then,  you  have  in  this  work  well-founded 
knowledge,  simple  and  right  aims,  thorough  mastery  of 
handicraft,  splendid  invention  in  arrangement,  unerring  20 
common  sense  in  treatment,  — merits,  these,  I think,  ex- 
emplary enough  to  justify  our  tormenting  you  a little  with 
Greek  art.  But  it  has  one  merit  more  than  these,  the 
greatest  of  all.  It  always  means  something  worth  saying. 
Not  merely  worth  saying  for  that  time  only,  but  for  all  25 
time.  What  do  you  think  this  helmet  of  lion's  hide  is 
always  given  to  Hercules  for  ? You  can't  suppose  it  means 
only  that  he  once  killed  a lion,  and  always  carried  its  skin 
afterwards  to  show  that  he  had,  as  Indian  sportsmen 
send  home  stuffed  rugs,  with  claws  at  the  corners,  and  a 3a 
lump  in  the  middle  which  one  tumbles  over  every  time  one 
stirs  the  fire.  What  was  this  Nemean  Lion,  whose  spoils 
were  evermore  to  cover  Hercules  from  the  cold?  Not 


264 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


merely  a large  specimen  of  Felis  Leo,°  ranging  the  fields  of 
Nemea,  be  sure  of  that.  This  Nemean  cub  was  one  of  a 
bad  litter.  Born  of  Typhon  and  Echidna,®  — - of  the  whirl- 
wind and  the  snake,  — Cerberus  his  brother,  the  Hydra  of 
5 Lerna®  his  sister,  — it  must  have  been  difficult  to  get  his 
hide  off  him.  He  had  to  be  found  in  darkness,  too,  and 
dealt  upon  without  weapons,  by  grip  at  the  throat  — ar- 
rows and  club  of  no  avail  against  him.  What  does  all  that 
mean  ? 

lo  173.  It  means  that  the  Nemean  Lion  is  the  first  great 
adversary  of  life,  whatever  that  may  be  — to  Hercules,  or 
to  any  of  us,  then  or  now.  The  first  monster  we  have  to 
strangle,  or  be  destroyed  by,  fighting  in  the  dark,  and  with 
none  to  help  us,  only  Athena  standing  by  to  encourage 
15  with  her  smile.  Every  man^s  Nemean  Lion  lies  in  wait 
for  him  somewhere.  The  slothful  man  says,  there  is  a lion 
in  the  path.®  He  says  well.  The  quiet  ttnslothful  man 
says  the  same,  and  knows  it  too.  But  they  differ  in  their 
further  reading  of  the  text.  The  slothful  man  says,  I shall 
20  be  slain,  and  the  unslothful,  it  shall  be.  It  is  the  first 
ugly  and  strong  enemy  that  rises  against  us,  all  future 
victory  depending  on  victory  over  that.  Kill  it;  and 
through  all  the  rest  of  life,  what  was  once  dreadful  is  your 
armor,  and  you  are  clothed  with  that  conquest  for  every 
25  other,  and  helmed  with  its  crest  of  fortitude  for  evermore. 

Alas,  we  have  most  of  us  to  walk  bare-headed ; but  that 
is  the  meaning  of  the  story  of  Nemea,  — worth  laying  to 
heart  and  thinking  of  sometimes,  when  you  see  a dish 
garnished  with  parsley,  which  was  the  crown  at  the  Ne- 
30  mean  games. 

174.  How  far,  then,  have  we  got  in  our  list  of  the  merits 
of  Greek  art  now  ? 

Sound  knowledge. 


ATHENA  IN  THE  HEART 


265 


Simple  aims. 

Mastered  craft. 

Vivid  invention. 

Strong  common  sense. 

And  eternally  true  and  wise  meaning.  5 

Are  these  not  enough?  Here  is  one  more,  then,  which 
will  find  favor,  I should  think,  with  the  British  Lion. 
Greek  art  is  never  frightened  at  anything ; it  is  always  cool. 

175.  It  differs  essentially  from  all  other  art,  past  or 
present,  in  this  incapability  of  being  frightened.  Half  ic 
the  power  and  imagination  of  every  other  school  depend  on 

a certain  feverish  terror  mingling  v/ith  their  sense  of  beauty, 

— the  feeling  that  a child  has  in  a dark  room,  or  a sick 
person  in  seeing  ugly  dreams.  But  the  Greeks  never 
have  ugly  dreams,  ^'hey  cannot  draw  anything  ugly  15 
when  they  try.  Sometimes  they  put  themselves  to 
their  wits^-end  to  draw  an  ugly  thing,  — the  Medusa’s 
head,  for  instance,  — but  they  can’t  do  it,  not  they, 
because  nothing  frightens  them.  They  widen  the  mouth, 
and  grind  the  teeth,  and  puff  the  cheeks,  and  set  the  20 
eyes  a goggling;  and  the  thing  is  only  ridiculous  after 
all,  not  the  least  dreadful,  for  there  is  no  dread  in  their 
hearts.  Pensiveness;  amazement;  often  deepest  grief 
and  desolateness.  All  these;  but  terror  never.  Ever- 
lasting calm  in  the  presence  of  all  fate ; and  joy  such  as  25 
they  could  win,  not  indeed  in  a perfect  beauty,  but  in 
beauty  at  perfect  rest ! A kind  of  art  this,  surely,  to  be 
looked  at,  and  thought  upon  sometimes  with  profit,  even 
in  these  latter  days. 

176.  To  be  looked  at  sometimes.  Not  continually,  and  30 
never  as  a model  for  imitation.  For  you  are  not  Greeks ; 
but,  for  better  or  worse,  English  creatures ; and  cannot 
do,  even  if  it  were  a thousand  times  better  worth  doing, 


266 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 


anything  well,  except  what  }"our  English  licarts  shall 
prompt,  and  your  English  skies  teach  you.  For  all  good 
art  is  the  natural  utterance  of  its  own  people  in  its  own  day. 
But  also,  your  own  art  is  a better  and  brighter  one  than 
5 ever  this  Greek  art  was.  Many  motives,  powers,  and  in- 
sights have  been  added  to  those  elder  ones.  The  very 
corruptions  into  which  we  have  fallen  are  signs  of  a subtle 
life,  higher  than  theirs  was,  and  therefore  more  fearful  in 
its  faults  and  death.  Christianity  has  neither  superseded, 
lo  nor,  by  itself,  excelled  heathenism;  but  it  has  added  its 
own  good,  won  also  by  many  a Nemean  contest  in  dark 
valleys,  to  all  that  was  good  and  noble  in  heathenism ; and 
our  present  thoughts  and  work,  when  they  are  right,  are 
nobler  than  the  heathen ^s.  And  we  are  not  reverent 
15  enough  to  them,  because  we  possess  too  much  of  them. 
That  sketch  of  four  cherub  heads  from  an  English  girl, 
by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  at  Kensington,  is  an  incom- 
parably finer  thing  than  ever  the  Greeks  did.  Ineffably 
tender  in  the  touch,  yet  Herculean  in  power;  innocent, 
20  yet  exalted  in  feeling ; pure  in  color  as  a pearl ; reserved 
and  decisive  in  design,  as  this  Lion  crest,  — if  it  alone 
existed  of  such,  — if  it  were  a pi(*ture  by  Zeuxis, ° the  only 
one  left  in  the  world,  and  you  build  a shrine  for  it,  and 
were  allowed  to  see  it  only  seven  days  in  a year,  it  alone 
25  would  teach  you  all  of  art  that  you  ever  needed  to  know. 
But  you  do  not  learn  fro)n  this  or  any  other  such  work,  be- 
cause you  have  not  reverence  enough  for  them,  and  are 
trying  to  learn  from  all  at  once,  and  from  a hundred  other 
masters  besides. 

30  177.  Here,  then,  is  the  practical  advice  which  I would 

venture  to  deduce  from  what  I have  tried  to  show  you. 
Use  Greek  nrl  as  a first,  not  a final,  teacher.  TiCarn  to 
draw  carefully  fi’nin  Grc'ck  work  ; above  all,  to  place  forms 


ATUKNA  IN  Tim  HEART 


2G7 


correctiy,  and  to  use  light  and  shade  tenderly.  Never 
allow  yourselves  black  shadows.  It  is  easy  to  make  things 
look  round  and  projecting;  but  the  things  to  exercise 
yourselves  in  are  the  placing  of  the  masses,  and  the  model- 
ling of  the  lights.  It  is  an  admirable  exercise  to  take  a 5 
pale  wash  of  color  for  all  the  shadows,  never  reinforcing  it 
everywhere,  but  drawing  the  statue  as  if  it  were  in  far 
distance,  making  all  the  darks  one  flat  pale  tint.  Then 
model  from  those  into  the  lights,  rounding  as  well  as  you 
can,  on  those  subtle  conditions.  In  your  chalk  drawings,  ic 
separate  the  lights  from  the  darks  at  once  all  over ; then 
reinforce  the  darks  slightly  where  absolutely  necessary, 
and  put  your  whole  strength  on  the  lights  and  their  limits. 
Then,  when  you  have  learned  to  draw  thoroughly,  take 
one  master  for  your  painting,  as  you  would  have  done  15 
necessarily  in  old  times  by  being  put  into  his  school  (were 
I to  choose  for  you,  it  should  be  among  six  men  only  — 
Titian,  Correggio,  Paul  Veronese,  Velasquez,  Reynolds, 
or  Holbein). ° If  you  are  a landscapist.  Turner  must  be 
your  only  guide  (for  no  other  great  landscape  painter  has  20 
yet  lived) ; and  having  chosen,  do  your  best  to  understand 
your  own  chosen  master,  and  obey  him,  and  no  one  else, 
till  you  have  strength  to  deal  with  the  nature  itself  round 
you,  and  then,  be  your  own  master,  and  see  with  your  own 
eyes.  If  you  have  got  masterhood  or  sight  in  you,  that  is  25 
the  way  to  make  the  most  of  them  ; and  if  you  have  neither, 
you  will  at  least  be  sound  in  your  work,  prevented  from 
immodest  and  useless  effort,  and  protected  from  vulgar 
and  fantastic  error. 

And  so  I wish  you  all,  good  speed,  and  the  favor  of  3c 
Hercules  and  of  the  Muses ; and  to  those  who  shall  best 
deserve  them,  the  crown  of  Prrsley  first  and  then  of  the 
Laurel.  ° 


-fm 


NOTES 


THE  CROWN  OF  WILD  OLIVE 

INTRODUCTION 

Ruskin  took  ^'extreme  pains’^  (see  footnote,  § 1)  with 
this  revised  Introduction.  For  this  reason  it  seems  worth 
while  to  give,  in  the  following  notes,  the  more  important 
variants. 

1 : 5.  Wandel.  “ The  Springs  of  Wandel ''  is  the  title 
of  the  first  chapter  of  Ruskin  ^s  Prceterita. 

1 : 9.  “Giveth  rain  from  heaven.’*  A combination  of  Joh 
V,  10:  . who  giveth  rain  upon  the  earth, and  Is. 

Iv,  10:  . as  the  rain  cometh  down  from  heaven.’^ 

See  also  Acts  xiv,  17. 

1 : 12.  Confessed.  N o sweeter  homes  ever  hallowed  the 
heart  of  the  passer-by  with  their  pride  of  peaceful  gladness 
— fain-hidden  — yet  fully  confessed.’^  Note  the  alliteration, 
and  observe  the  extent  to  which  Ruskin  uses  this  embellish- 
ment in  these  lectures. 

1 : 13.  1870.  Instead  of  this  date,  the  first  edition, 
1866,  had:  ^^or,  until  a few  months  ago,  remained.’^ 

1 : 16.  Pisan  Maremma.  Pisa,  city  and  province  of 
Italy,  part  of  the  former  grand  duchy  of  Tuscany.  Ma- 
remma, Italian,  corrupted  from  marittima,  country  by  the 
seashore,  from  mare,  the  sea.  Also  known  as  Tuscan 
Maremma.  — Campagna.  Town  in  Salerno,  Italy. 

1 : 17.  Torcellan.  Torcella,  a small  island  near  Venice. 

2 : 8.  Chalcedony.  A variety  of  quartz,  the  name  of 
which  is  derived  from  Chalcodon,  a town  in  Asia  Minor. 

269 


NOTES 


2 : 9.  Grenouillette.  See  French  Dictionary. 

2:13.  Shreds'of  old  metal.  Compare  potsherd  shard,  and 
shear  d. 

2:14.  Which,  having  . . . they.  Originally:  ‘‘they  hav- 
ing . . . thus.’’ 

2 : 15.  Dig  into  the  ground.  Bury. 

2 : 21.  Gentler  hands.  People  of  more  refinement. 

2 : 23.  Scoria.  Slag,  dross. 

2 : 28.  The  accumulation  of  indolent  years.  What  figure 
of  speech? 

2 : 33.  Porch  of  Bethesda.  John  v,  2-4.  Bethesda 
(House  of  Mercy)  had  five  porches.  “ In  these  lay  a great 
multitude  of  impotent  folk,  of  blind,  halt,  withered,  waiting 
for  the  moving  of  the  water.  For  an  angel  went  down  av 
a certain  season  in  the  pool,  and  troubled  the  water  : whoso- 
ever then  first  after  the  troubling  of  the  water  stepped  in 
was  made  whole  of  whatsoever  disease  he  had.” 

3:1.  I suppose.  Not  in  the  original.  Does  this  indi- 
cate a change  in  Ruskin’s  attitude  towards  the  villagers? 

3:8.  In  so  wise  manner.  In  such  a way,  or  manner. 

3 : 15.  Freehold.  A legal  term.  See  Dictionary. 

3 : 21.  Dead  ground.  Unproductive,  idle. 

3 : 24.  Open-handed.  Is  this  meant  for  a pun? 

3 : 25.  Habitually  scatters.  Originally:  “ habitually  scat- 
ters from  its  presence.” 

3:30.  Perilous.  Originally:  “deadly.” 

3 : 31.  Partly  grievous  and  horrible.  Originally  : “partly 
fierce  and  exhaustive.” 

4:3.  This  paragraph  was  the  last  sentence  of  the  original 
paragraph  2. 

5:1.  Percentage.  Three  years  before  Ruskin  invari- 
ably wrote  “ per-centage.” 

5:3.  By-ways.  Originally  :“  bye-ways.” 


NOTES 


271 


5 : 10.  Filchings.  Things,  commonly  of  small  value, 
stolen  or  taken  privately. 

5 : 12.  The  original  § 4 embraced  the  present  §§  5,  6,  and  7. 
— Croydon  publican.  This  adaptation  is  not  from  Luke  (v, 
27),  whose  publican,  Levi,  was  a tax-collector;  but  from 
Matthew  (xi,  19)  and  Luke  (vii,  34),  who  speak  of  ‘‘the  Son 
of  Man^’  as  being  called  “ a wine-bibber,  a friend  of  pub- 
licans and  sinners.^’ 

5 : 15.  Out-rail.  Note  the  pun. 

5 : 17.  Both  are,  as  to  their  relative  attractiveness,  just 
where  they  were  before.  Ruskin  improves  this  by  omitting 
an  ironical  pun  that  appeared  between  “attractiveness^^ 
and  “just,’’  in  the  original  : “to  customers  of  taste.” 

5:19.  The  amateurs  of  railings.  Originally  : “ customers 
of  taste.”  Has  Ruskin  simply  substituted  one  pun  for 
another? 

5 : 22.  Precisely  what  the  capitalist  has  gained.  Origi- 
nally not  italicized.  What  does  the  change  indicate? 

5 : 29.  Blackmail.  Compare  Unto  this  Last,  § 45.  ( Unto 

this  Last  was  written  in  1860,  ten  years  before  the  revision 
of  this  Introduction,  and  six  years  before  the  writing  of 
Crown  of  Wild  Olive,) 

5 : 30.  Cozening.  Deceiving,  or  cheating,  by  claiming 
relationship  — cousining.  — Reiver.  Compare  reave,  be- 
reave, rob.  — Quartered.  Lodged,  sheltered. 

5 : 33.  Robber.  What  is  the  difference  between  a robber 
and  a burglar? 

6:8.  The  proceeding.  Originally:  “it.”  — Political  econ- 
omy. Ruskin  defines  true  political  economy  ( Unto  this 
Last,  § 28)  as  follows  : “ Political  economy  (the  economy 
of  a State,  or  of  a citizen)  consists  simply  in  production, 
preservation,  and  distribution,  at  fittest  time  and  place,  of 
useful  or  pleasurable  things.” 


272 


NOTES 


6 : 20.  No  excuse  for  the  theft.  Compare  Unto  this  Last, 
§§  43,  54. 

6 : 21.  Turnpike.  Riiskin  means  a turnstile,  or  a toll- 
gate.  In  America  the  turnpike  is  the  roadway. 

6 : 26.  Out-facing.  Is  this  intended  for  a pun  of  the 
“ out-rail’^  type  (§  5)? 

7:7.  Which.  Would  ‘Hhat^^  be  better?  ‘‘Ruskin, 
at  this  time  [Modern  Painters,  Part  I,  Section  1]  and  ever 
after,  used  Svhich^  where  ‘that^  would  be  both  more  correct 
and  less  inelegant.  He  probably  had  the  habit  from  him 
who  did  more  than  any  other  to  disorganize  the  English 
language  — that  is,  Gibbon. — Mrs.  Mynell,  John  Ruskin, 
New  York,  1890,  p.  16. 

7:11.  Destroy.  Originally  not  italicized. 

7 : 14.  Final  inconvenience.  In  addition  to  what  we 
have  here,  this  paragraph  originally  closed  with  the  sentence, 
“ So  that,  conclusively,  in  political  as  in  household  economy 
the  great  question  is,  not  so  much  what  you  have  in  your 
pocket,  as  what  you  buy  with  it,  and  do  with  it.^^  Compare 
Unto  this  Last,  § 72. 

7 : 15.  The  original  § 5 embraced  the  present  §§  8,  9,  10,* 
11,  and  12. 

7:17.  Statements  laughed  at  for  years  before  thej^  are 
examined  or  believed.  Compare  Joseph  Salyards,  Idothea, 

I,  776:  — 

“We  burn  the  martyr,  then  adopt  the  creed.” 

7 : 24.  Intrinsic.  Not  in  the  original. 

7:26.  “Practical.”  Originally  used,  but  not  quoted. 

7 : 28.  Modern  school  of  economists.  Reference  to 

J.  Stuart  Mill,  his  forebears  and  followers  in  economics. 
David  Ricardo  (1772-1823)  was  not  in  sympathy  with  the 
working  classes.  Mill  (1806-1873),  in  his  doctrines  concern- 
ing the  experiences  of  the  soul  of  man,  did  not  please  Ruskin. 


NOTES 


273 


It  is  interesting  to  trace  the  influence  of  Adam  Smith’s 
Wealth  of  Nations  (1766)  in  the  works  of  Ricardo,  Mill, 
and  Ruskin.  Read  Ruskin’s  ‘^Ad  Valorem,”  the  fourth 
and  last  essay  in  Unto  this  Last.  See  also  Mrs.  Mynell, 
John  Ruskin,  New  York,  1900,  p.  150  ff. 

7:33.  Labor.  Originally  labors.’’ 

8 : 2.  Heads  of  the  following  lectures.  Note  in  this  para- 
graph the  terms : — 

Operatives  Merchants  Soldiers 

Manufacture  Selling  Killing 

Craftsmen  Salesmen  Swordsmen  ^ 

out  of  which  he  evolves  his  simple  titles : — 

Work  Traffic  War 

8:10.  Chiefly  desired.  Originally  followed  by:  (as  I 

have  just  said).” 

8 : 22.  Face  the  difficulty.  Originally  followed  by  : just 

spoken  of.” 

8 : 27.  Then.  Not  in  original. 

8 : 30.  “ What  you  say,’’  etc.  Not  originally  included 
with  quotation  marks. 

8 : 31.  Unbelievers.  Un-  not  originally  italicized. 
8:34.  Shake  off  the  dust.  Matt,  x,  14;  Mark  vi,  11; 

but  Ruskin  probably  has  in  mind  Luke  ix,  5;  Acts  xiii,  51. 
9:1.  I had  got  to  say.  Improve  this  expression. 

9 : 3.  Intractable  question.  Originally  : “ Intractable  part 
of  the  subject.” 

9 : 14.  Property  . . . invisible.  Luke  xvii,  20  : ‘^The 

kingdom  of  God  cometh  not  with  observation.” 

9 : 21.  More  blessed,  etc.  Allusion  to  Acts  xx,  35. 

9:28.  Of  first  forward  youth.  Originally:  ‘^of  my  first 
forward  youth.” 

T 


274 


NOTES 


9:29.  To  believe  anything.  Originally:  “of  what,  in 
such  matters  1 thought  myself.’^ 

9 : 31.  I take  for  the  time  his  creed.  Possibly  suggested 
by  1 Cor.  ix,  22. 

10:4.  Forty  years.  See  Prceterita,  pp.  1,  2,  52-58. 
When  this  lecture  was  written  (1866),  Ruskin  was  only 
about  forty-five;  but  his  statement  is  not  very  wide  of  the 
mark. 

10  : 8.  Fetish.  Also  fetich.  A material  substance  used 
as  a charm  by  certain  African  tribes,  as  the  rabbit^s  foot 
among  uneducated  American  negroes.  — Talisman.  A magi- 
cal image,  usually  engraved  on  stone  or  metal.  See  Spenser^s 
Faerie  Queene,  Canto  I,  stanza  2,  line  5. 

10  : 17.  Life  c . . meat  . . . body  . . . raiment.  Matt. 
vi,  25;  Luke  xii,  23. 

10:18.  Without  being  accused  of  fanaticism.  Originally  : 
“without  accusation  or  fanaticism.” 

10:21.  After  all  these  things.  Matt,  vi,  52, 

Section  13.  § 6 of  the  original. 

11  : 7.  All  things  ended  in  order  for  his  sleep,  or  left  in 
order  for  his  awakening.  Originall}^  : “all  things  in  order 
for  his  sleep,  or  in  readiness  for  his  awakening.”  When 
Hezekiah  was  “sick  unto  death  . . . Isaiah,  the  prophet, 
. . . said  unto  him  . . . Set  thine  house  in  order.” — Is. 
xxxviii,  1;  2 Kings  xx,  1. 

Section  14.  § 7 of  the  original. 

11:10.  End.  Originally:  “put.” 

11  : 14.  Rooms  in  their  Falhens  house  . . . mansions. 
John  xiv,  2 : “In  my  Father's  house  are  many  man- 
sions.” 

11  : 16.  Live  at  court.  Originally  : “Live  at  Court.” 

11  : 18.  “Desire  to  depart,  and  be  with  Christ.”  Phil,  i, 
23  : . . dcsir(‘  to  depart,  and  to  be  with  (4irist.” 


T 


NOTES 


275 


11  : 27.  Drunkard.  Is.  xxii,  13  : . . eating  flesh  and 

drinking  wine  : let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we 
shall  die/^ 

11  : 29.  Device  in  the  grave.  Eccl.  ix,  10  : . there 

is  no  . . . device,  ...  in  the  grave,  whither  thou  goest.” 

12  : 8.  What  a man  soweth  that  shall  he  also  reap.^^ 

Gal.  vi,  7 : Whatsoever  a man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also 

reap.^^ 

12  : 8.  Pestilence  . . . darkness.  Ps.  xci,  6 : . the 

pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness.’^ 

Section  15.  The  eighth  and  final  paragraph  of  the  original 
Preface  embraced  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  paragraphs 
of  this  Introduction. 

12  : 10.  Offence.  Possibly  an  allusion  to  Rom.  xiv,  20, 
21. 

12:13.  Which.  Or  ^Hhat’’? 

12  : 16.  Hill  of  Mars.  Acts  xvii,  22  : Paul  stood  in  the 

midst  of  Mars’  hill  ’’  and  addressed  the  men  of  Athens.  — 
Eumenides.  The  Furies  (Alecto,  Tisiphone,  and  Megara), 
who  punished  with  stinging  remorse  those  who  had  escaped 
or  defied  public  justice. 

12  : 17.  Might  not  a preacher  . . . say  to  them.  In 
place  of  this,  Ruskin  said,  originally  : I would  fain,  if 

I might  offencelessly,  have  spoken  to  them  as  if  none  others 
heard;  and  have  said  thus:’'  Does  the  change  strengthen 
the  appeal? 

12  : 29.  Fruit  of  righteousness.  Compare  2 Cor.  ix, 
10. 

12  : 31.  Iniquity  . . . remembered  no  more.  Heh.  viii, 

12  : Their  iniquities  will  I remember  no  more.” 

13  : 1.  You.  Originally  not  italicized. 

13  : 4.  Before  the  moth.  Easier  than  you  can  crush  the 
moth. 


276 


NOTES 


13  : 6.  Fails  for  lack  of  food.  See  Ps.  xxxiv,  10;  Lam.  ii, 
11  12. 

^ ‘^Sucking  children  in  the  street  do  die. 

When  they  had  cried  unto  their  mothers,  ‘ Where 
Shall  we  find  bread  and  drink?’  they  fainted  there.” 

— Donne,  The  Lamentations,  etc.,  132-134. 

13  : 7.  Whisper  . . . dust.  Possibly  suggested  by  Is. 
xxix,  4. 

13  : 9.  Lie  down  ...  in  the  dust.  See  Job  xx,  11. — 
Worms  cover  you.  Job  vii,  5. 

13  : 17.  More  prompt  . . . more  niggardly.  Originally  : 
‘'readier  . . . and  niggardly.” 

13  : 21.  Well  understanding  your  act.  Originally:  “well 
understood.” 

13  : 23.  When  brought  into  these  curt  limits.  Originally: 
“in  these  curt  limits.”  — Curt.  Latin  curtus,  short,  very 
brief.  What  additional  meaning  has  this  word? 

13  : 24.  Fever  fit.  “ After  lifers  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well.” 
— Macbeth,  III,  ii,  23. 

13  : 30.  Are  health  and  heaven  to  come?  Then.  Not 
in  the  original. 

13  : 32.  Crowns.  First  suggestion  of  the  title  of  the  three 
essays,  or  lectures. 

13  : 33.  Though.  Not  in  the  original. 

14  : 2.  No.  Not  italicized  in  the  original. 

14  ; 3.  But  your  Palace-inheritance.  Not  in  original. 

14:7.  Rest  which  remaineth.  Heb.  iv,  9:  “There  re- 
maineth  therefore  a rest  for  the  people  of  God.” 

14  : 12.  The  heathen,  in  their  saddest  hours,  thought 
not  so.  Originally  : “The  heathen,  to  whose  creed  you 
have  returned,  thought  not  so.”  Suggest  reasons  for  the 
change. 

14  : 13.  Crown.  Second  suggestion  of  title. 


NOTES 


277 


14  : 16.  [Crown  of]  Wild  Olive.  Title  complete,  but  not 
fully  explained. 

14  : 18.  It  should  have  been  of  gold.  See  title-page. 

14  : 23.  [Crown  of]  Wild  Olive,  mark  you  . . . gray  leaf 
and  thornset  stem;  . . . sharp  embroidery.  Title  com- 
plete and  explained.  See  The  Queen  of  the  Air,  § 38: 
Hercules  plants  the  wild  olive,  for  its  shade,  on  the  course 
of  Olympia,  and  it  thenceforward  gives  the  Olympic  crown 
of  consummate  honor  and  rest.^^ 

14  : Note.  /xeXiroea-o-a,  7*  epcKcv.  Pindar,  Olymp.,  I, 

157-159:  — 

“6  vlkCjv  de  XoiTTbp  ^Lotop 
fJ.e\LT6e<Taap 
de8\o)P  y '4p€K€p.^'* 

‘^The  victor  for  the  rest  of  his  life  has  delicious  (honey 
sweet)  tranquillity  (fair,  sunny  weather)  on  account  of  the 
games. 

15  : 3.  May  yet  be  your  riches.  Originally  preceded  by 
''  these.’’ 

15  : 5.  Life  that  now  is  . . . that  which  is  to  come. 

1 Tim.  iv,  8:  Godliness  is  profitable  unto  all  things,  having 

promise  of  the  life  that  now  is,  and  of  that  which  is  to  come.” 

LECTURE  I 
Work 

The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive  was  written:  ^'Traffic,”  1864; 
Work  and  Play,”  — being  the  present  Work,”  — and 
*‘War,”  1865;  first  published  in  1866.  The  Introduction 
(Preface)  was  revised  in  1870.  (See  p.  1,  § 1.)  This  lecture 
seems  to  have  been  revised,  or  the  revision  retouched,  after 
1873.  (See  footnote,  p.  30,  § 26.)  The  revised  text  is  here 


278 


NOTES 


used  because  it  is  better.  The  more  important  variants  are 
given . 

17:4.  Plain  questions.  1866:  plain  but  necessary 

questions.” 

18  : 25.  Are  there  necessarily  upper  classes?  necessarily 
lower?  1866:  “Are  there  really  upper  classes,  — are  there 
lower?” 

18  : 28.  I pray  ...  to  forgive.  1866  : “I  pray  those  of 
you  who  are  here  to  forgive.”  Note  the  narrowing  and 
the  strengthening  of  the  appeal. 

19:8.  Ask  them  what  they  think.  1866:  “Ask  them, 
also  as  representing  a great  multitude,  what  they  think.” 

19:12.  Your  employers.  1866:  “those  classes.” 

19  ; 13.  Idle  classes.  Read  Robert  Louis  Stevenson ^s 
essay,  “An  Apology  for  Idlers.” 

Section  20.  The  original  has  no  footnote.  “Original,” 
here  and  hereafter,  means  1866. 

19  : 27.  Play  marbles.  An  appeal  to  the  interest  of  all 
men  who  have  been  boys. 

20  : 6.  [How  little  wise  in  this!]  Not  in  the  original. 

20  : 8.  Among  them.  Not  in  the  original. 

20:10.  Looks.  1866:  “has  a tendency  to  look.” 

20:22.  No  worldly  distinction.  1866:  “no  class  dis- 

tinction.” 

21  : 22.  Definition.  Note  carefully,  in  this  paragraph, 
the  definitions  of  play  and  work,  and  the  illustrations. 

21  : 28.  As  you  call  it.  Judging  from  this  expression, 
and  from  the  reference  to  football,  in  the  next  paragraph, 
was  Ruskin  “gamesome”? 

Section  24.  Is  Ruskin  wholly  serious  in  the  first  half  of 
this  paragraph,  and  wholly  sensible  in  the  second? 

22  : 17.  “Well,  141  get  more.”  It  was  said  of  some  of 
our  cotton-planters,  before  the  Civil  War,  “They  buy 


NOTES 


279 


negroes,  to  make  cotton,  to  get  money,  to  buy  more  negroes, 
to  make  more  cotton,  to  get  more  money,  to  buy  still  more 
negroes,  etcN 

23  : 3.  Or  filling  both.  This  was  originally  followed  by: 
Collecting  money  is  by  no  means  the  same  thing  as  making 
it;  the  tax-gatherer^s  house  is  not  the  Mint;  and  much  of 
the  apparent  gain  (so  called),  in  commerce,  is  only  a form 
of  taxation  on  carriage  and  exchange. Does  not  Ruskin 
here  confuse  money-manufacturing  and  money-earning? 

23  : 8.  And  the  resultant  demoralization  of  ourselves,  our 
children,  and  our  retainers.  Not  in  the  original. 

23  : 9.  Beautiful.  Is  Ruskin  sincere? 

23:15.  Gambling.  Originally  followed  by:  ‘^By  no 

means  a beneficial  or  recreative  game.” 

23  : 19.  Brace.  A pair,  a couple.  Now  rarely  applied  to 
persons  except  with  contempt.’ 

23  : 21.  Many  mansions.  Reference  to  John  xiv,  2. 

23  : 23.  Four-square  city  . . . measuring  reeds.  Rev. 
xxi,  16:  ‘^And  the  city  lieth  four-square  . . . and  he 

measured  the  city  with  the  golden  reed.” 

23:25.  By  this  nation.  Originally  followed  by  : ^Svhich 
has  set  itself  as  it  seems,  literally  to  accomplish,  word  for 
word,  or  rather  fact  for  word,  in  the  persons  of  those  poor 
whom  its  Master  left  to  represent  him,  what  that  Master 
said  of  himself  — that  the  foxes  and  birds  had  homes  but 
he  had  none  [Matt,  viii,  20].  Notice  those  poor  whom  its 
Master.”  . . . The  footnote  has  been  added. 

23  : 28.  Not  the  cheapest  of  games.  Originally  followed 
by:  ‘'I  saw  a brooch  at  a jeweller’s  in  Bond  Street  a fort- 
night ago,  not  an  inch  wide,  and  without  any  singular  jewel 
in  it,  yet  worth  3000  £.” 

24  : 9.  Fashions  you  have  set.  How  have  these  fashions 
been  set? 


280 


NOTES 


24  : 11.  Or  as  Chaucer  calls  it  ^'all  toslittered/'  though 
not  for  ^^queintise.^^  Not  in  the  original.  The  reference 
is  to  The  Romaunt  of  the  Rose,  line  840. 

24:21.  Imagination.  Originally  followed  by  : ^Hhe  facts 
of  it  not  always  so  pleasant.’’ 

24  : 27.  Bats  and  balls.  Guns  and  bullets. 

25  : 10.  Philologists.  Ruskin  here  means  one  who 
comprehends  the  origin  and  meaning  of  words.  Ruskin 
himself  is  somewhat  of  a philologist:  see  Traffic,”  para- 
graphs 63,  69. 

25  : 12.  Birmingham.  The  chief  manufacturing  city 
of  England.  Spelled  Bermingeham  in  Doomsday  Book. 
Ruskin  implies  that  'play  in  Birmingham  means  work. 

25  : 13.  Baden-Baden.  A place  of  fashionable  resort 
in  Germany,  in  a valley  near  the  Black  Forest.  Baden, 
in  German,  means  bathing,  balneation.  Ruskin  implies 
that  play  in  Baden-Baden  means  play. 

25  : 20.  We  have  piped  unto  you,  etc.  Matt,  xi,  16,  17; 
Luke  vii,  32.  How  can  one  know  that  Ruskin  refers  to 
Luke? 

25:28.  Jelly-fish.  1866:  ^^sucking-fish.” 

26  : 1.  And  cease  to  translate.  1866  : ^^and  enough 

respect  for  what  we  regard  as  inspiration,  as  not  to  think, 
*Son  . . . means  Fool.  . . .’” 

26  : 2.  Vineyard.  Matt,  xxi,  28.  An  exact  quotation. 

26  : 7.  Dives  and  Lazarus.  Luke  xvi,  19,  20  : . a 

certain  rich  man  ...  a certain  beggar  named  Lazarus.” 
Latin  dives,  rich.  The  name  ‘^Dives’’  does  not  appear  in 
the  English  Bible.  Vulgate,  Luke  xvi,  19  : ‘'Homo  quidam 
erat  dives.  ...”  Chaucer  gets  his  name  for  a leper, 
“lazar,”  from  Lazarus.  See  The  Prologue,  line  242. 

26  : 12.  This  chance  extract.  In  this  lecture,  as  delivered, 
and  as  first  printed,  Ruskin  gave  two  “chance  extracts,” 


NOTES 


281 


which  he  cut  from  two  papers  that  lay  on  his  breakfast 
table  on  the  same  morning,  the  25th  of  November,  1864. 
The  first  of  these  extracts,  which  Ruskin  calls  common- 
place,^^ he  omits  from  the  revised  essay.  It  is  about  a 
rich  Russian,  “ Count  Teufelskine.'^  Ruskin  manufactured 
the  name,  presumably  from  the  German  Teufel,  devil, 
and  the  English  skin.  Count  Devilskin,  or  a Count  who 
would  skin  the  devil.  This  Count,  breakfasting  in  Paris, 
was  charged  fifteen  francs  for  two  peaches  (out  of  season). 
‘'Peaches  scarce,  I presume?^’  querried  the  Count.  “No, 
sir,’'  replied  the  waiter,  “but  Teufelskines  are.” 

26  : 23.  Bone-picker.  Such  as  the  men  who  sing,  in  the 
back  alleys  of  American  cities, 

*‘Any  rags,  any  bones,  any  bottles  to-day? 

Same  oV  rag-man  cornin’  this  way.” 

The  bones  are  sold  to  a junk-dealer,  who,  in  turn,  sells  them 
to  fertilizer  factories,  or  to  sugar  refineries. 

27  : 8.  Poor  Law  Act.  A law  pertaining  to  the  support 
or  relief  of  the  poor.  See  article  on  “ Poor  Laws,”  in  any 
good  cyclopaedia. 

27  : 10.  Gnawing  flesh  . . , sucking  bones.  Prceterita, 
p.  98  : “ Mause  [the  kitchen  servant  of  Rose  Terrace,  the 
home  of  Ruskin’s  childhood]  had  been  nearly  starved  to 
death  when  she  was  a girl,  and  had  literally  picked  the  bones 
out  of  cast-out  dust-heaps  to  gnaw.” 

27  : 15.  Jewish  Lazarus  . . . rich  man’s  table.  — Luke 
xvi,  20. 

28  : 3.  Rapine.  Plundering;  seizing  and  carrying  away 
by  force. 

28:9.  Are  earning.  1866  earn.”  — By  those  who 
already  possess  it,  and  only  use  it  to  gain  more.  1866  : “ by 
those  who  levy  or  extract  it.” 


NOTES 


1>S2 


28  : 25.  Ten  years  without  it.  See  “Traffic/’  paragraph 
75. 

28  : 31.  Clergyman’s  object.  Compare  Chaucer’s  ‘‘povre 
Persoun/’  The  Prologue,  lines  477-529. 

28  : 33.  Doctors  . . . like  fees.  Compare  Chaucer’s  “ Doc- 
tour  of  Phisik/’  The  Prologue,  411-444. 

29  : 14.  You  cannot  serve  two  masters.  Matt,  vi,  24; 
Luke  XV?;  13. 

29  : 20.  Least  erected  fiend  that  fell. ” Evidently  Ruskin 
quotes  from  memory. 

^‘Mammon,  the  least  erected  spirit  that  fell 
From  heaven.” 

— Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  I,  679-680. 

29  : 24.  King  of  Kings.  Rev.  xix,  16  : ‘L\nd  he  hath  on 
his  vesture  and  on  his  thigh  a name  written,  King  of  Kings, 
AND  Lord  of  Lords.” 

29  : 33.  Judas  bargain.  Matt,  xxvi,  14,  15;  Mark  xiv, 
10,  11;  Luke  xxii,  3,  4,  5;  John  xviii,  2.  Only  Matthew 
mentions  the  thirty  pieces  of  silver. 

30  : 1.  Judas  . . . Iscariot.  Judas,  Graecized  form  of 
Judah,  means  praise.  Iscariot,  a man  of  Kerioth  {Josh,  xv, 
25).  Judas  Iscariot  is  mentioned  in  Matt,  x,  4;  xxvi,  14; 
Mark  iii,  19;  xiv,  10;  Luke  vi,  16;  xxii,  3 : John  vi,  71; 
xiii,  26. 

30  : 5.  He  never  thought  He  would  be  killed.  1866  : “ He 
didn’t  want  Him  to  be  killed.” 

30  : 13.  Helpless  to  understand  Christ.  1866  : “He  didn’t 
understand  Christ.” 

30  : 17.  Christ  would  come  out  of  it  well  enough.  See 
W.  W.  Story,  A Roman  Lawyer  in  Jerusalem,  pp.  112- 
114. 

30  : 31.  Carrying  the  bag.  John  xii,  6. 


NOTES 


283 


31  : 5.  Cunningest.  Riiskin  often  forms  such  superlatives 
by  adding  -c.s*b  instead  of  using  most.  See  § 39  : ‘^ad- 
visablest/^  profitablest/^ 

31  : 15.  Bags  and  crags  have  just  the  same  result  on  rags. 

Note  the  epigrammatic  nature  of  this  sentence.  Would 

effect  on’’  be  better  than  ‘^result  on”? 

31  : 18.  One  great  principle.  Originally  followed  by:  “I 
have  to  assert.”  — You  will  find  it  unfailing.  1866:  ''You 
will  find  it  quite  undisputably  true.”  Is  the  change  for  the 
better?  Why? 

32  : 4.  Value  and  use.  Originally  followed  by  : "This  is 
the  true  law  of  life.” 

32  : 29.  Bishop  Colenso.  John  William  Colenso  (1814- 
1883),  Bishop  of  Natal,  South  Africa.  Ruskin  refers  to 
Colenso’s  The  Pentateuch  and  Book  of  Joshua  Critically 
Examined. 

32  : 31.  Primary  orders.  This  paragraph  formerly  ended 
as  follows  : "...  primary  orders;  and  as  if,  for  most 
of  the  rich  men  of  England  at  this  moment,  it  were  indeed 
to  be  desired,  as  the  best  thing  at  least  for  them,  that  the 
Bible  should  not  be  true,  since  against  them  these  words  are 
written  in  it  : 'The  rust  of  your  gold  and  silver  shall  be  a 
witness  against  you,  and  shall  eat  your  flesh,  as  it  were  fire  ’ 
[Jas.  V,  3].” 

32  : 34.  Hand  . . . head.  A modified  designation  of 
"lower  class,”  and  "upper  class.” 

33  : 11.  Dignity  of  humanity.  Originally  there  followed 
this  sentence  : "That  is  a grand  old  proverb  of  Sancho 
Panza’s,  ' Fine  words  butter  no  parsnips,’  and  I can  tell 
you  that,  all  over  England  just  now,  you  workmen  are  buy- 
ing a great  deal  too  much  butter  at  that  dairy.”  By 
"dairy,”  Ruskin  means  the  English  Parliament.  See  para- 
graphs 41,  42.  Sancho  Panza  is  the  counterpart  of  the 


284 


NOTES 


hero  in  Cervantes’s  Don  Quixote.  Sancho  means  spindle* 
shanks,  and  Panza  means  paunch. 

33  : 15.  Collier’s  helm.  The  helm  of  a vessel  engaged 
in  the  coal  trade.  — Lee-shore.  The  shore  on  the  lee  side  of 
a vessel.  See  lee  and  windward. 

33  : 20.  Reading  books,  classing  butterflies,  painting 
pictures.  Is  there  nothing  else  a gentleman  can  do? 

33  : 28.  The  hand’s  the  ignoble?  Do  you  agree  with 
this? 

33  : 31.  ‘^In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  thou  shalt  eat  bread.” 

Gen.  iii.  19  : In  the  sweat  of  thy  face  shalt  thou  eat  bread.” 

Note  the  difference  in  the  order  of  the  words.  Is  there  a 
difference  in  the  meaning? 

34  : 9.  Blessed  are  the  dead  . . . they  rest  from  their 
labors.”  Rev.  xiv,  13  : ‘^They  rest,”  should  be,  ‘Hhey  may 
rest.”  May  not  the  head-ledoorer  hope  for  a holiday,  be 

blessed,”  and  rest  from  his  labors? 

34:15.  Laborious  friends.  1866:  '^working  friends.” 
See  § 42. 

34  : 16.  Must.  Originally  not  italicized. 

34  : 18.  Doing.  Being  done.  Compare  : The  house  is 
building. 

34:23.  Soft  work.  Would  not  ^^easy  work”  sound 
better?  ‘^Soft  work”  is  at  least  suggestive  of  the  slang 
phrase,  “A  soft  snap.” 

34  : 25.  Because  we  cannot  help  ourselves.  Compare 
Johnson’s  Rasselas,  Chapter  XVI,  next  to  the  last  paragraph. 

34  : 31.  Disorderly  — ordered.  Scrambling  — soldierly; 
doggish  — human.  Note  the  contrasts. 

34  : 32.  A lawful  or  loyal  ” way.  1866  : ‘‘  a lawful  way.” 

34  : 33.  The  labor  that  kills  — the  labor  of  war.  The 
sword. 

35  : 2.  The  labor  that  feeds.  The  plough. 


NOTES 


285 


35  : 10.  Gentleman  . . . justice.  Is  Ruskin  consistent? 
Does  he  not  here  admit  that  the  rough  hand-worker,  who 
does  justice  to  the  gentle  head-worker,  is  a “ gentleman 
and  that  the  gentle  head-worker,  who  is  unjust  to  the 
rough  hand-worker,  is  a “rough  man'^? 

35  : 14.  But  they  never  . . . ever  ask.  Is  this  “ ever  a 
slip,  or  does  it  give  emphasis?  “ But  they  never  ever  ask,^^ 
is  suggestive  of  Riley’s  Hoosier  verse. 

35  : 19.  “Do  justice  and  judgment.”  Gen.  xviii,  19.  Also 
mentioned  in  2 Sam.  viii,  15;  1 Chron.  xviii,  14;  Jer.  xxiii, 
5;  Ps.  Ixxxix,  14.  “Judgment  and  justice”  : Is.  ix,  7. 
“Do  justice”  : Ps.  Ixxxii,  3;  Is.  Ivi,  1.  “Execute  justice”  : 
Jer.  xxiii,  5. 

35:21.  Sing  psalms.  Ps.  xlvii,  1;  Ixvi,  1;  Ixxxi,  1; 
xcii,  1;  xcv,  1;  xcvi,  1;  xcvii,  1;  xcviii,  1;  c,  1;  cv, 
2,  etc. 

35  : 22.  Pray  when  you  need.  Matt,  vi,  8,  32;  Luke  xii, 
30;  Phil,  iv,  19;  Heb.  iv,  16. 

35  : 29.  He  likes  to  hear.  Compare  Matt,  vii,  11;  Luke 
xi,  13. 

36  : 2.  It  doesn’t  call  that  serving  its  father.  But  what 
does  the  father  call  it? 

36:4.  Most  probably  it  is  nothing.  Fie,  Fie,  Ruskin! 
Csesar  had  some  fear  of  Cassius,  because  “ he  loves  no  plays 

. . he  hears  no  music.”  {Julius  Caesar,  I,  ii,  203-204.) 
Even  the  conspirator,  Brutus,  loved  “a  strain  or  two”  of  a 
“sleepy  tune,”  and  was  gentle  to  the  boy.  (IV,  iii,  255- 
274.) 

36:8.  Performed.  Note  the  punning  explanation.  — at 
so-and-so  o’clock.  1866:  “at  eleven  o’clock.”  Suggest  a 
reason  for  the  change. 

36  : 13.  Charity.  Does  Ruskin  mean  almsgiving,  or 
love?  Note  the  word  “love”  in  the  paragraph  below. 


2m 


2^0TES 


36  : 23.  Don’t  love  him.  Would  do  not  love  him/’  be 
stronger? 

36  : 27.  Got.  If  the  sense  of  '^got^’  may  not  be  spared, 
suggest  a better  word.  — Begins  at  home.  Compare  the 
saying  : ‘^Charity  begins  at  home.” 

36  : 32.  Little  children  . . . little  boots  . . . little  feath- 
ers. Why  the  repetition  of  ‘Mittle”? 

37  : 5.  Crossing-sweeper.  One  who  sweeps  the  foot- 
paths, at  the  intersection  of  streets,  for  small  pay,  and  the 
privilege  of  begging  at  that  place. 

37  :7.  You  will  give  . . . good  you  are.  1866:  ‘^we 

...  we  are.” 

37  : 11.  God  , . . for  them.  This  sentence  is  not  in  the 
original. 

37  : 13.  Justice  . . . blind.  How  is  Justice  usually  pic- 
tured? Why? 

37  : 25.  How  can  she,  etc.  . . . You  don’t,  because,  etc. 
. . . Position  in  which,  etc.  Should  Ruskin  have  used 
quotation  marks? 

38  : 4.  That’s  modern  Christianity.  Is  it?  Is  Ruskin 
pessimistic? 

38  : 6.  We  shall  never  know  . . . undone.  1866  : ^^How 
do  you  know  what  you  have  done,  or  are  doing?”  There 
are  some  unimportant  changes  in  the  next  sentence. 

38  : 23.  People  . . . pay  . . . for  being  amused  or  cheated. 
Southey  tells  the  story,  in  his  Letters  of  Espriella,  that 
English  people  paid  an  admission  fee  to  see  a shaved 
monkey,  exhibited  as  a fairy. 

38  : 24.  Talker.  Member  of  Parliament.  See  § 42. 

38  : 28.  Homer  . . . Iliad.  Homer,  the  greatest  epic 
poet  the  world  has  known.  It  is  believed  that  he  was  an 
Asiatic  Greek,  native  of  Smyrna.  He  is  accredited  with 
the  authorship  of  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey,  in  celebrat>'*»j 


NOTES 


287 


3f  the  Trojan  War.  Homer  is  supposed  to  have  lived  about 
850  B.c.j  400  years  before  the  time  of  Flerodotus  the  his- 
torian. The  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey  are  thought  to  be  of 
ballad  origin.  — Dante  . . . Paradise.  Alighieri  Dante 
(Durante),  1265-1321,  the  greatest  of  Italian  poets,  author 
of  Divina  Commedia:  ^Hnferno^’;  Purgatorio’’;  Para- 
diso.^’  Among  the  later  translations,  in  English,  are  those 
by  Longfellow  (1867,  blank  verse)  and  Charles  Eliot  Norton 
(Revised  edition,  1902,  prose). 

38  : 30.  Telescope.  The  telescope  was  probably  invented 
by  Hans  Leppershey;  but  Ruskin  refers  to  Galileo  Galilei, 
1564-1642.  Galileo  was  born  the  day  Michelangelo  died, 
and  died  the  day  Isaac  Newton  was  born. 

38  : 32.  Microscope.  The  question  as  to  who  invented 
the  microscope  seems  to  be  unanswered.  Ruskin  possibly 
refers  to  Zacharias  Jansen.  He  cannot  mean  the  Isle  of 
Wight  man,  Robert  Hooke,  who  had  plenty  of  money  when 
he  died. 

39  : 2.  Done  for  nothing.  Is  this  true  of  our  day? 
— Baruch.  Jer.  xxxvi,  32.  Baruch  wrote  also  Jeremiah’s 
first  roll  for  him.  See  same  chapter,  verse  4. 

39  : 4.  St.  Stephen.  Acts  vii,  58. 

39  : 6.  World-father.  What  is  meant  by  this?  For  what 
two  reasons  can  it  not  mean  God? 

39  : 11.  Not  bread;  a stone.  Matt,  vii,  10;  Luke  xi,  11. 

39  : 12.  To  keep  you  quiet.  Surely  Ruskin  offers  this  pun 
to  please  his  ‘Gower  class.”  Compare  the  puns  and  the 
punners  in  the  opening  scene  of  Julius  Ccesar. 

39  : 13.  And  tell  to  future  ages,  etc.  Not  in  the  original. 
Should  not  “tell”  have  “to”  before  it? 

39  : 17.  Better  payment.  Between  this  and  “we  shall 
pay,”  there  was  (1866),  “someday,  assuredly,  more  pence  will 
be  paid  to  Peter  the  Fisherman,  and  less  to  Peter  the  Pope.” 


288 


NOTES 


40  : 1.  Children  playing  in  the  [streets].  Zech.  viii,  5 : 

And  the  streets  of  the  city  [Jerusalem]  shall  be  full  of  boys 
and  girls  playing  in  the  streets  thereof.^^ 

40  : 6.  Laborious  friends.  1866  : ‘^working  friends.^'  See 
§ 37. 

40  : 9.  Wise  . . . and  foolish  work.  It  is  evident  that 
^^wise’^  and  foolish'^  were  suggested  by  the  wise  and  fool- 
ish builders  (Matt,  vii,  24,  26),  since  all  the  Biblical  refer- 
ences in  the  following  paragraph  (1866,  but  here  omitted), 
except  the  one  on  wages, are  to  this  book  and  chapter. 

The  omitted  paragraph  : — 

Well,  wise  work  is,  briefly,  work  with  God.  Foolish  work 
is  work  against  God.  And  work  done  with  God,  which  he 
will  help,  may  be  briefly  described  as  ^ Putting  in  Order  ^ — ■ 
that  is,  enforcing  God^s  law  of  order,  spiritual  and  material, 
over  men  and  things.  The  first  thing  you  have  to  do,  essen- 
tially; the  real  ^good  work^  is,  with  respect  to  men,  to  en- 
force justice,  and  with  respect  to  things,  to  enforce  tidiness, 
and  fruitfulness.  And  against  these  two  great  human  deeds 
[needs?],  justice  and  order,  there  are  perpetually  two  great 
demons  contending,  — the  devil  of  iniquity,  or  inequity,  and 
the  devil  of  disorder,  or  of  death;  for  death  is  only  consum- 
mation of  disorder.  You  have  to  fight  these  two  fiends 
daily.  So  far  as  you  don’t  fight  against  the  fiend  of  iniquit}^, 
you  work  for  him.  You  ^work  iniquity’  [Matt,  vii,  23],  and 
judgment  upon  you,  for  all  your  ^ Lord,  Lord’s’  [Matt,  vii, 
21,  22]  will  be  'Depart  from  me,  ye  that  work  iniquity, 
[Matt,  vii,  23].  And  so  far  as  you  do  not  resist  the  fiend  of 
disorder,  you  work  disorder,  and  you  yourself  do  the  work 
of  Death,  which  is  sin,  and  has  for  its  wages.  Death  himself 
[ Rom.  vi,  23].” 

40  : 18.  Fair-play  . . . foul-play.  No  italics  in  the  orig- 
inal. 


NOTES 


289 


40  : 19.  Never.  1866  ; ‘^ever.^^  What  is  the  difference? 
40  : 20.  And  bitterer.  Not  in  the  original. 

40  : 21.  Fair-work  . . . foul-work.  No  italics  in  the 
original. 

40  : 26.  Loads  dice.  Secretly  inserts  lead  to  make  the 
dice  turn  in  a desired  way. 

40  : 27.  Loads  scales.  Would  putting  lead  (usually  shot) 
in  the  weight-holder  of  scales  be  loading  or  unloading? 

40:29.  What  difference  does  it  make?  1866:^' What 
does  it  matter? 

40  : 31.  Unless  that  flaw  ...  of  the  two.  1866  : ‘‘The 
fault  in  the  fabric  is  incomparably  the  worst  of  the  two.'' 

41  : 2.  To  us  who  help  you.  Ruskin  had  a way  of  talking 
down  to  his  audience. 

41  : 9.  Right  hand  . . . wrong  hand.  Is  this  two  puns, 
or  one? 

41  : 22.  Exert.  1866  : “use." 

41:25.  And  found.  1866  : “and  you  found."  Why 

the  change? 

41  : 29.  Cream.  1866  : “milk." 

42  : 2.  Golden  bowl  at  the  fountain.  EccL  xii,  6.  See 

also  Poe's  Lenore:  — 

“Ah,  broken  is  the  golden  bowl ! the  spirit  flown  forever  !" 

42:3.  Life.  1866  :“  blood." 

42  : 10.  The  whistling  bullets.  1866  : “ the  little  whistling 
bullets." 

42:12.  Messages  to  many  a man.  1866 : “messages 
from  us  to  many  a man." 

42  : 15.  Shorten  his  life.  Compare  Julius  Coesar,  III 
i,  101,  102. 

42  : 19.  Strength.  Not  in  the  original. 

42  : 24.  Hold  closer.  What  does  Ruskin  mean? 


u 


290 


N^OTEb 


42  : 31.  Thy  kingdom  come.  Matt,  vi,  10.  ^‘The  Lord's 
Prayer.'' 

42  : 33.  God's  name  in  vain.  Ex.  xx,  7.  The  reference 
is  to  the  third  of  the  Ten  Commandments. 

43  : 5.  Insult.  1866  : ''mock." 

43  : 6.  With  the  reed.  Matt,  xxvii,  30. 

43  : 16.  The  kingdom  of  God,  etc.  Luke  xvii,  20,  21. 

43  : 21.  Joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost.  Rom.  xiv,  17. 

43:24.  There's  one  curious  condition.  1866  : "there's 
just  one  condition." 

43  : 26.  Whosoever  will  not  . . , shall  not  enter  therein. 

Mark  x,  15  : " Whosoever  shall  not,  etc." 

43  : 28.  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Matt,  xix, 
14;  Mark  x,  14;  Luke  xviii,  16.  Ruskin  does  not  quote 
exactly  either  passage.  There  are  no  italics,  and  no  foot- 
note, in  the  original.  On  the  statement  made  in  the  foot- 
note, see  the  some  twenty-five  Biblical  references  and  allu- 
sions in  the  last  two  paragraphs  of  this  lecture  — eighteen 
of  them  in  the  last. 

44  : 3.  Or  the  earth  — when  it  gets  to  be  like  heaven. 
Not  in  the  original. 

44  : 4.  But  that's  not  so.  1866,  followed  by  the  sentence  : 
" There  will  be  children  there,  but  the  hoary  head  is  the  crown 
["  if  it  be  found  in  the  way  of  righteousness,"  Prov.  xvi,  31]." 

44  : 5.  Length  of  days,  etc.  Prov.  hi,  2.  — Still  less  to 
live.  Not  in  the  original.  — Babyhood.  Between  this, 
and  the  closing  sentence  of  the  present  paragraph,  the 
original  had  : " Children  die  but  for  their  parents'  sins  [Does 
this  agree  with  John  ix,  1-3?];  God  means  them  to  live, 
but  he  can't  let  them  always  [always  let  them?];  then  they 
have  their  earlier  place  in  heaven:  and  the  little  child  of 
David,  vainly  prayed  for  [2  Sam.  xii,  15-23.  First-born  and 
unnamed  child  of  David  and  Bath-sheba.  The  next  child 


NOTE^ 


291 


of  this  union  was  Solomon.];  the  little  child  of  Jeroboam, 
killed  by  its  mother's  step  on  its  own  threshold  [1  Kings  xiv, 
1,  17.  This  child  was  Abijah,  brother  of  King  Nadab.j;  — 
they  will  be  there.  But  weary  old  David  [Seventh  son  of 
Jesse  {1  Chron.  ii,  15);  seven  years  King  over  Judah,  in  He- 
bron; thirty-three  years  King  of  Israel,  in  Jerusalem  (1  Kings 
ii,  11)],  and  weary  old  Barzillai  [The  Gileadite  of  Rogelim 
{2  Sam.  xvii,  27;  xix,  31-39;  1 Kings  ii,  7)],  having  learned 
children's  lessons  at  last,  will  be  there  too  : and  the  one 
question  for  us  ail,  young  or  old,  is,  how  we  have  learned  our 
child's  lesson?"  Should  this  sentence  be  followed  by  an 
interrogation  point? 

44  : 20.  Plato.  A Greek  philosopher,  427-347  b.c. 
Ruskin  seems  to  be  referring  to  the  Republic  of  Plato, 
Book  I,  Chapters  XVIII,  XIX  ff.  He  seems,  furthermore, 
to  have  misunderstood  Plato. 

45 : 4.  Possible  to  man.  In  the  original  there  follows, 
in  this  paragraph  : “ Among  all  the  nations  it  is  only  when 
this  faith  is  attained  by  them  that  they  become  great  : 
the  Jew,  the  Greek,  and  the  Mohametan,  agree  at  least  in 
testifying  to  this.  It  was  a deed  of  this  absolute  trust  which 
made  Abraham  the  father  of  the  faithful  [Gen.  xv,  6;  xvii, 
3] ; it  was  the  declaration  of  the  power  of  God  as  captain  over 
all  men,  and  the  acceptance  of  a leader  appointed  by  Him 
as  commander  of  the  faithful,  which  laid  the  foundation  of 
whatever  national  power  yet  exists  in  the  East;  and  the 
deed  of  the  Greeks,  which  has  become  the  type  of  unselfish 
and  noble  soldiership  to  all  lands,  and  to  all  times,  was  com- 
memorated, on  the  tomb  of  those  who  gave  their  lives  to 
do  it,  in  the  most  pathetic,  so  far  as  I know,  or  can  feel,  of 
all  human  utterances  : ^Oh,  stranger,  go  and  tell  our  people 
[the  Lacedaemonians]  that  we  are  lying  here,  having  obeyed 
their  words.'"  See  Hiller's  Anthologia  Lyrica,  Simonides 
(of  Ceos),  No.  78.  Also  Myers's  Ancient  History,  p.  196. 


292 


nOTES 


45  : 6.  Loving.  1866  . Loving  and  Generous/’ 

45:12.  Humble.  1866  : ‘Gittle.” 

45  : 15.  Careful  lor  nothing.  Compare  Phil.  iv.  6. 

45  : 18.  No  thought  for  the  morrow.  Reference  to  Matt 
vi,  34. 

45  : 25.  Rejoiceth  as  a strong  man.  Ps.  xix,  5. 

“ With  a ray  here  and  a flash  there, 

And  a shower  of  jewels  everywhere.” 

Note  the  rhythm  and  the  rime. 

46  : 1.  Except  ye  be  converted.  Matt,  xviii,  3. 

46  : 7.  Conventicle.  A small  and,  formerly,  secret,  as- 
sembly for  religious  worship.  Does  Ruskin  use  the  word 
opprobriously,  or  merely  to  indicate  that  the  worshippers 
were  Nonconformists  or  Dissenters? 

46  : 8.  Backsliding.  “ Falling  from  grace,”  — sliding 
back  into  sinful  life.  Backsliding  is  a term  used  among 
the  Wesleyan  Methodists,  and  their  followers  (‘‘Ranters,” 
Wordsworth  quotes  them  as  being  called;  see  the  Fenwdck 
note  on  “ Peter  Bell,”  Dowden’s  Wordsworth,  Vol.  II,  p.  334) 
wRo  do  not  believe  in  the  doctrine  : “ Once  in  grace,  always 
in  grace.” 

46  : 14.  Medicine  for  your  healing.  See  Mai.  iv,  2;  Rev. 
xxii,  2. 

46  : 15.  True  wisdom  for  your  teaching.  Compare  Jas. 
in,  17. 

46  : 18.  The  poison  of  asps.  Rom.  iii,  13. — The  sucking 
child  shall  play  by  the  hole  of  the  asp.  Is.  xi,  8 : “ The  suck- 
ing child  shall  play  on  the  hole  of  the  asp.” 

46  : 19.  Their  eyes  are  privily  set.  Ps.  x,  8. 

46  : 22.  The  weaned  child  shall  lay  his  hand,  etc.  Is.  xi, 
8 : “The  w^eaned  child  shall  put  his  hand,  etc.” 

46  : 25.  Their  feet  are  swift  to  shed  blood,  etc.  This  is  a 
combination  of  Rom.  iii,  15  and  Ps.  xvii,  11,  12. 


NOTES 


293 


46  : 28.  The  wolf  shall  lie  down  with  the  lamb  A garbled 
paraphrase,  and  a quotation  from  Is.  xi,  6. 

46  : 31.  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth.  Matt,  xi,  25;  Luke 
X,  21. 

46  : 33.  He  has  hidden  these  things.  Matt,  xi,  25;  Luke 
X,  21.  Why  should  Ruskin  have  left  off  the  quotation 
marks? 

47  : 2.  Principalities  and  powers.  See  Rom.  viii,  38; 
Eph.  vi,  12.  — As  far  as  the  east,  etc.  Ps.  chi,  12. 
‘^Transgressions  removed,’^  not  “sins  set  from’^  (King 
Jameses  version). 

47  : 4.  The  Sun  . . , rejoices.  Ps.  xix,  5. 

47  : 6.  Sun  . , . red  . . . with  blood.  Suggested  by  the 
moon  being  turned  to  blood.  Acts  ii,  20;  or  by  the  moon  be- 
coming as  blood.  Rev.  vi,  12.  See  also  Rev.  viii,  8. 

47:8.  Early  and  latter  rain.  “ Former  and  latter  rain,” 
Jer.  V,  24;  Joel  hi,  23.  “Latter  and  former,”  Hos.  vi,  3. 
“First  and  latter,”  Deut.  xi,  14.  “Latter,”  Job  xxix,  23; 
Zech.  x,  1.  “The  former  rain  in  Judea  was  at  the  beginning 
of  the  civil  year,  about  September  or  October;  the  latter 
rain  was  in  Abib,  or  March.”  (Cruden.)  — Red  rain.  Com- 
pare Ps.  xi,  6;  Rev.  viii,  7.  Ruskin’s  thought  is  more  prob- 
ably suggested  by  the  latter. 

47  : 14.  Out  of  the  mouths,  etc.  Ps.  viii,  2. 


LECTURE  II 

Traffic 

This  lecture  was  delivered  1864;  published  1866. 

The  reference,  R.  to  N.,  in  these  notes,  is  to  Letters  of 
John  Ruskin  to  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  Boston,  1905,  2 vols. 
48  : Title.  Traffic.  See  Introduction,  § 9. 


294 


NOTES 


48  ; 3.  Exchange.  A place  wliere  mercantile  or  pro- 
le^sional  men  meet  at  stated  times  to  transact  business. 

49  : 1.  Conditions.  1866  : ‘^circumstances.'’ 

49  : 11.  Architectural  man-milliner,  etc.  This  playful- 
ness comes  in  well,  as  a relief  to  the  tension  that  must  have 
been  caused  by  his  blunt  beginning. 

49  : 18.  All  good  architecture.  Note  this  partial  defi- 
nition, and  the  comment. 

49:26.  But  we  need  no  sermons,  etc.  1866:  “but 

preach  no  sermons  to  us.” 

49  : 32.  Tell  me  what  you  like,  and  111  tell  you  what  you 
are.  A commonplace  thought  so  briefly  and  beautifully 
expressed  as  to  be  worthy  of  memorizing.  Compare  the 
aphorism  : “As  he  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he.”  Prov. 
xxiii,  7. 

50  : 3.  Quartern.  The  fourth  of  a pint;  a gill. 

50  : 11.  A shy  at  the  sparrows.  Shy,  to  fling  or  throw 
stones  sidewise  with  a jerk.  See  next  paragraph. 

50  : 12.  Pitch  farthing.  A game  played  by  pitching 
farthings  to  see  who  can  put  the  coin  nearer,  or  nearest, 
to  a line.  A farthing,  a copper  coin  the  fourth  of  a penny- 
in  value;  equal  to  half  a cent  in  United  States  currency. 

50:29.  Thinking  of  the  bottle.  1866:  “thirsting  for 
the  bottle.” 

51  : 4.  Hunger  and  thirst  after  justice.  Matt,  v,  6 : 
“ Blessed  are  they  which  do  hunger  and  thirst  after  right- 
eousness, etc.” 

51  : 8.  Rightly  set  liking.  Fixed,  adjusted,  established 
appreciation. 

51  : 12.  Teniers.  David  Teniers,  the  Elder  (1582- 
1649),  and  his  son  David  Teniers,  the  Younger  (1610- 
1690),  were  both  Flemish  artists,  of  Antwerp.  There  was 
a thiid  David  Teniers,  an  artist  of  some  note,  but  he  died 


NOTES 


295 


before  attaining  the  rank  of  either  his  father,  or  his  grand- 
father. Ruskin’s  reference  may  be  to  Teniers,  the  Elder, 
as  the  subjects  of  his  pencil  are  generally  public-houses, 
smoking-rooms,  rustic  games,  and  the  like,  done  in  vividly 
realistic  manner.  Teniers,  the  Younger,  was  a more 
prolific  painter  than  his  father,  and  England  is  said  to  be 
specially  rich  in  specimens  of  his  work;  but  his  attention 
was  more  upon  outdoor  scenes,  skies,  trees,  etc.  See 
Modern  Painters,  Part  1,  Section  I. 

51  : 20.  Titian.  Tiziano  Vecellio,  or  Vecelli,  1477-1576, 
was  head  of  the  Venetian  school  of  painters,  and  was  him- 
self so  great  as  to  be  classed  with  Raphael,  Michelangelo, 
and. Leonardo  da  Vinci.  He  was  personally  acquainted 
with  the  poet  Ariosto,  and  painted  his  portrait.  At,  or 
about,  the  age  of  ninety-nine,  Aug.  27,  1576,  Titian  died  of 
the  plague  in  Venice.  Modern  Painters,  Vol.  V (1860)  is 
largely  a matter  of  praise  of  the  leaf-drawing  of  Titian  and 
Holbein.  Titian  also  receives  high  praise  in  The  Two 
Paths  (1859).  — Turner.  Joseph  Mallard  William  Turner, 
1775-1851,  the  greatest  of  British  landscape  painters. 
Ruskin  was  his  intimate  friend  for  ten  years,  wrote  De- 
fence of  Turner,  1836,  and  planned  Modern  Painters  with 
a view  to  teaching  appreciation  of  Turner’s  work. 

51  : 24.  Delight  in  fine  art.  1866  : ‘'delight  in  art.” 

52:11.  Costermonger.  An  apple-seller;  a huckster. 

See  costard,  in  any  good  dictionary.  — Newgate  Calendar. 
A local,  current  almanac,  containing  weather  forecasts, 
jokes,  and  receipts. 

52  : 12.  Pop  goes  the  Weasel.  The  refrain  of  a foolish 
song,  far  removed  from  the  classical  in  style  or  treat- 
ment. 

52:13.  Dante.  See  note  on  “Work,”  J 41.  Also 
R.  to  \ Vol.  II,  p.  130. — Beethoven.  Ludwig  van  Bve- 


296 


NOTES 


thoven,  a world-famous  composer  of  music;  born  in  Bonn, 
1770;  died  in  Vienna,  1827. 

52  : 14.  I wish  you  joy.  Compare  § 77.  What  does 
Ruskin  mean  by  this? 

52  : 28.  Cast  and  hammer  iron.  To  cast  iron  — also 
called  puddling  — means  to  run  the  melted  ore  into  sand 
moulds;  to  hammer  iron,  to  hammer  or  roll  it  into  sheets. 

52  : 30.  Infernos.  The  openings  at  the  base  of  the  fur- 
nace, from  which  the  white-hot  iron  pours  into  the  sand- 
trench  leading  to  the  moulds.  Inferno  is  the  Italian  for  hell. 

53  : 2.  Worlds  that  roll  or  shine.  Compare  Addison's 
Hymn,  beginning : — 

*‘The  spacious  firmament  on  high," 
and  containing  the  lines:  — 

^^What  though  in  solemn  silence  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball? 

^ ^ 

Forever  singing  as  they  shine, 

' The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine.' " 

53  : 7.  Next  neighboring  nation.  France. 

53  : 8.  Mail.  See  chain  mail;  coat  of  mail. 

53  : 17. 

They  carved  at  the  meal 
With  gloves  of  steel, 

And  they  drank  the  red  wine  through  the  hehnet  barr'd." 

— • Scott,  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  Canto  I,  stanza  4 

Compare  Scott,  On  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe,  lines  25-26:  — 

*‘The  hand  that  mingled  in  the  meal. 

At  midnight  drew  the  felon  steel.'* 


NOTES 


297 


53  : 20.  Iron  armor.  Armor  plates ; plates  of  metal 
for  covering  ships.  These  plates  are  now  made  of  steel. 
The  first  armor-plated  steam  frigate  in  Great  Britain  was 
launched,  1860,  four  years  before  this  lecture  was  delivered. 
See  London  Times,  Dec.  29,  1860. 

53  : 23.  Ludicrous.  Producing  laughter  without  scorn 
or  contempt.  From  Indus,  play.  Compare  pre-lude, 
inter-lude,  post-lude.  — Melancholy.  Gloomy;  literally  : 
melan  = black,  cholly  = bile.  Compare  Melancthon  = black 
earth. 

53  : 31.  Fresco.  Painting  on  plaster;  originally,  fresh 
painting  on  plaster.  Italian  fresco,  fresh;  pan  fresco,  fresh 
bread.  What  is  the  origin  of  our  word  frisky? 

54  : 1.  Damask  curtains.  Curtains  with  flowers  and 
rich  designs,  originally  from  Damascus. 

54  : 11.  Spring  guns.  A spring  gun  is  a gun  so  arranged 
that  when  an  intruder  comes  in  contact  with  a string  or 
wire  attached  to  the  trigger,  the  gun  fires  in  the  direction 
of  the  disturbance. 

54  : 14.  Fifteen  millions  a year.  What  would  Ruskin 
think  now?  France,  1907,  spent  $253,000,000  in  her 
‘Hraps,^^  — Army  and  Navy;  the  United  States  of  America, 
1908,  $207,000,000.  England,  1909,  is  spending  $308- 
800,000. 

54  : 18.  Bedlam.  A place  for  the  insane;  a madhouse. 
Compare  Bethlehem.  Ruskin,  who  was  not  in  sympathy 
with  either  side  in  the  Civil  War,  wrote  to  Professor  Charles 
Eliot  Norton,  6th  August,  1864,  ‘L  . . you  are  living 
peaceably  in  Bedlam.”  R.  to  N.,  Vol.  II,  p.  146. 

54  : 19.  Pantomime.  Representing  in  mute  actions ; 
imitating  without  words. 

54  : 22.  Vermilion.  A brilliant  scarlet  pigment  com- 
posed of  the  sulphide  of  mercury,  HgS.  The  best  ver- 


298 


NOTES 


iiiilion  comes  from  China.  See  Matthew  Arnold’s  Sohrah 
and  Rustum,  lines  669-678. 

54  : 26.  Cricketing.  Cricket,  an  English  game,  played 
with  balls,  bats,  and  wickets.  See  Work,’'  § 23. 

54  : 29.  Armstrongs.  Wrought  iron,  breech-loading  can- 
non, named  for  the  inventor,  an  Englishman,  Sir  William 
.Armstrong. 

54  : 33.  Not  . . . neither.  One  of  Ruskin’s  peculiarities 
of  idiom,  suggestive  of  Shakespeare  influence.  See  the 
Merchant  of  Venice,  I,  hi,  162,  and  elsewhere.  — Black 
eagles.  The  flag  of  Austria. 

55:2.  Farther.  Ruskin  is  careless  in  using  ‘^farther” 
for  ‘‘further.”  What  is  the  difference? 

55  : 4.  Soldiership  of  early  Greece.  Ruskin  does  not 
refer  to  “vice’’  of  the  early  times  of  Ancient  Greece,  but  to 
the  period  approximating  404-352  b.c.  He  may  have 
reference  to  the  “virtue”  of  the  Heroic  Age. 

55  : 5.  Sensuality  of  late  Italy.  The  period  of  its  Re- 
naissance architecture.  See  § 65.  — The  visionary  religion 
of  Tuscany.  See  article  on  “ Florence,”  in  an  encyclopaedia. 

55  : 6.  Venice.  A famous  city  of  Italy,  “The  bride  of  the 
Adriatic,”  built  on  a cluster  of  marshy  islands  on  the  north- 
west border  of  the  Adriatic  Sea. 

55  : 8.  I have  done  it  elsewhere  before  now.  “ Elsewhere” 
refers  to  other  writings  (see  § 65),  and  to  other  places  : 
he  had  been  delivering  lectures  and  addresses  more  than 
ten  years. 

55  : 14.  Gothic.  A style  of  architecture  with  pointed 
arches,  steep  roofs,  large  window- s,  and  high  w\alls;  the  pre- 
vailing type  of  architecture  in  western  Europe,  1200-1475. 

55  : 17.  Phenomenon.  A strange,  unusual  occurrence. 

55  : 19.  Italian  style.  Road  the  articles  on  Grecian, 
Roman,  and  Italian  Architecture,  in  any  good  encyclopiedia. 


NOTES 


299 


55  : 21.  Cathedral  of  Antwerp.  Antwerp  is  one  of  tlie 
chief  commercial  cities  of  Belgium.  Her  Cathedral  is  one 
of  the  noblest  structures  in  the  world.  It  is  500  feet  long 
and  240  feet  wide;  the  lofty  spire  is  in  keeping  with  its 
Gothic  style  of  architecture. 

55  : 22.  Hotel  de  Ville  at  Brussels.  Brussels  is  the  capital 
of  Belgium.  The  Hotel  de  Ville,  located  in  the  Grand 
Place,  is  a Gothic  structure  erected  in  the  beginning  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  Its  pyramid  tower,  361  feet  high,  is  sur- 
mounted by  a statue  of  St.  Michael,  the  patron  saint  of 
Belgium. — Inigo  Jones  . . . Italian  Whitehall.  Inigo  Jones 
(about  1572-1651)  studied  architecture  in  France,  Ger- 
many, and  Italy,  introducing  the  style  of  Palladio  into 
England.  Whitehall  is  considered  his  masterpiece.  He 
was  employed  by  James  I.  in  arranging  the  scenery  for 
Ben  Jonson’s  Masques.  Jonson  afterwards  satirized  Jones 
in  his  Bartholomew  Fair. 

55  : 23.  Sir  Christopher  Wren  ...  St.  PauPs.  Sir 

Christopher  Wren,  1632-1723,  was  England's  most  re- 
nowned architect.  He  designed  many  of  the  most  notable 
buildings  of  London  : the  Royal  Exchange,  Custom  House, 
Temple  Bar,  etc.  The  restored  St.  PauPs  he  designed  on 
the  model  of  St.  Peter’s,  at  Rome. 

55  : 32.  Frankincense.  A precious  gum.  See  Ex.  xxx, 
34;  Lev.  ii,  1,  15;  v,  11;  Num.  v,  15;  1 Chron.  ix,  29; 
Neh.  xiii,  5,  9. 

56  : 11.  ^^This  is  the  house  of  God,  etc.’’  Gen.  xxviii,  17  : 
^‘This  is  none  other  but  the  house  of  God,  and  this  is  the 
gate  of  heaven.”  The  quotation  is  given  more  accurately 
later  in  this  paragraph ; but  there  Ruskin  puts  in  surely.” 

56  : 14.  A boy  leaves  his  father’s  house,  etc.  This  is  a 
paraphrase  of  Jacob’s  journey  to  the  home  of  his  uncle. 
Laban.  See  Gen.  xxviii. 


300 


NOTES 


56  : 16.  Wolds.  Forests;  woods;  the  word  is  now  little 
used  except  in  poetry.  Compare  the  German,  Wald.  — 
To  cross  the  wolds.  1866  : ‘'to  cross  the  wolds  of  West- 
moreland.^^— Carlisle.  On  a map  trace  , this  imaginary 
English  boy’s  trip  front  Bradford  to  Carlisle,  via  Hawes 
and  Brough. 

56  : 18.  Moors.  Wild,  waste  land.  See  also  morass  and 
heath.  The  combination  “wild  moors is  much  used  by 
English  poets. 

56  : 19.  Boggy.  Wet,  spongy,  mirey.  Compare  Peat 
Bogs  of  Ireland. 

56  : 26.  Angels  of  God  are  seen  ascending.  1866  : “angels 
of  God  are  ascending.” 

56  : 33.  Torrent-bitten.  Poetic  expression,  meaning 
furrowed  by  the  waters  of  many  rains.  Compare  hunger- 
bitten,  Job.  xviii,  12. 

57  : 4.  Ready  for  it  always.  Reference  to  Matt,  xxv,  13; 
Mark  xiii,  33;  Luke  xii,  40. 

57  : 6.  You  can  guide  the  lightning.  Reference  to  the 
lightning-rod,  contrived  by  Benjamin  Franklin  as  a result 
of  his  kite-flying  experiment,  1752.  George  III.  hated 
Franklin,  but  his  faith  in  the  discovery  was  such  that  he 
had  lightning-rods  put  on  Buckingham  Palace  and  on  the 
Royal  Powder  Magazines. 

57  : 7.  The  going  forth  of  the  Spirit.  Compare  Matt. 
xxv,  13;  Luke  xii,  40;  Ps.  civ,  30;  cxxxix,  7. 

57  : 8.  Lightning  when  it  shines,  etc.  Reference  to 
Matt,  xxiv,  27. 

57  : 12.  Judaism.  “The  religious  doctrines  and  rites 
of  the  Jews  as  enjoined  in  the  laws  of  Moses.”  — J.  S. 
Mill. 

57  : 13.  Temples.  Ruskin  is  holding  to  the  original 
meaning  of  the  word  : a piece  of  land  marked  off;  land 


NOTES 


301 


dedicated  to  a god.  It  is  a fact,  however,  that  the  Jews 
in  early  times  built  a temple  at  Jerusalem  for  the  worship 
of  Jehovah.  See  the  use  of  the  word  temple , 1 Cor.  hi,  16. 

67  : 14.  Now,  you  know  perfectly  well  they  are  not  temples. 
1866  : ‘^Now,  you  know,  or  ought  to  know,  they  are  not 
temples. Which  declaration  is  more  polite? 

57  : 15.  Synagogues.  Primarily  synagogue  does  not 
mean  gathering  place,  but  to  lead  with;  to  bring  to- 
gether; furthermore,  whether  applied  to  assembly,  or  build- 
ing, the  word  is,  and  was  in  Ruskin’s  day,  inseparably  con- 
nected with  the  name  of  the  Jews. 

57  : 20.  Churches.  Why  should  we  translate  it 

churches^’?  The  Vulgate  has  synagogis.  Ruskin  is  in- 
sisting on  the  KURIAKON,  of  the  Greek. 

57  : 24.  Thou,  when  thou  prayest,  etc . Paraphrase  of 
Matt,  vi,  5,  6. 

57  : 28.  And  your  hills.  Originally  followed  by  : 1 am 

trying  to  show  you.^’ 

58  : 4.  Lares  . . . Lar.  Mythological  household  gods; 
deceased  ancestors  supposed  to  protect  the  family.  Com- 
pare Milton,  Od.  Nat.,  line  191. 

68  : 12.  The  Seven  Lamps.  The  Seven  Lamps  of  Archi- 
tecture, 1848  or  1849.  ‘‘These  seven  ‘lamps^  are  Sacrifice, 
Truth,  Power,  Beauty,  Life,  Memory,  Obedience.  The  book 
. . . deals  with  the  spirit  in  which  the  architect  should 
work,  and  the  national  spirit  which  makes  great  national 
architecture  possible.’^  — Herbert  Bates. 

58  : 16.  The  Stones  of  Venice.  Vol.  I,  1851;  Vols.  II, 
III,  1853.  Read  first  The  Seven  Lamps. 

58  : 20.  Renaissance  architecture.  The  style  of  architec- 
ture accompanying  the  revival  of  classical  learning  and  art 
in  Italy  in  the  fifteenth  century. 

58  : 27.  Honest  Infidels.  What  is  an  honest  infidel? 


302 


NOTES 


58:30.  Exchange  business.  ‘‘Business'^  appears  twice 
in  this  sentence.  Does  the  same  spirit  prompt  both  uses? 

58  : 32.  Farther.  See  note  on  § 61. 

59  : 6.  Ecclesiastical.  Pertaining  to  the  clergy.  An  ec- 
clesiastic is  one  called  out  to  the  service  of  the  church. 

59  : 15.  Laity.  Compare  laymen, 

59  : 16.  Good  architecture.  No  footnote  in  the  origi- 
nal. 

59  : 21.  Baron’s  castle.  The  home  of  the  possessor  of  a 
fief  who  had  feudal  tenants  under  him.  — Burgher’s  street. 
The  homes  along  the  streets  of  a borough. 

59:23.  Warrior  kings.  1866:  '^soldier  kings.” 

59  : 26.  Cloister.  An  enclosed  place;  a place  of  retire- 
ment for  religious  duties.  See  monastery,  nunnery,  con- 
vent, abbey,  and  priory. 

59  : 27.  Crusade.  A military  expedition  undertaken 
for  the  purpose  of  recovering  the  Holy  Land  from  the 
Mohammedans.  What  is  the  origin  of  the  word  crusade  ? 

60  : 2.  The  gist.  The  main  point. 

60  : 9.  Hieroglyphic.  Emblematic,  or  of  mysterious 
significance. 

60  : 18.  Egypt.  That  large  area  of  country,  in  north- 
eastern Africa,  watered  by  the  Nile.  — Syria.  A division 
of  Asiatic  Turkey,  extending  about  380  miles  along  the 
Mediterranean  coast.  — India.  A [)art  of  the  British  Em- 
pire is  the  region  south  of  the  Himalaya  Mountains,  in- 
cluding Baluchistan  on  the  west  and  part  of  Indo-China 
on  the  east. 

60  : 20.  Bosphorus.  The  Bosphoi-us  connects  the  Black 
Sea  and  the  S(‘a  of  Marmora,  and  forms  part  of  the  boundary 
between  Euro})(‘  and  .Asia. 

60  : 22.  Mediaeval.  The  .Middle  .\ges. 

60  : 24.  Rennaisance.  See  note  on  § 65. 


NOTES 


^50o 

60  : 32.  Stumbling  block  . . . Foolishness.  Reference 
to  1 Cor.  i,  23. 

61  : 3.  Athena.  Minerva,  the  goddess  of  wisdom,  war, 
and  all  the  liberal  arts. 

61  : 8.  ^gis.  A shield  or  protective  armor;  literally, 
a goatskin.  The  shield  of  Jupiter  which  he  gave  to  Minerva. 

61  : 10.  Gorgon.  Gorgon,  or  Medusa,  one  of  the  three 
fabled  sisters,  Stheno,  Eluryale,  and  Medusa,  with  snaky 
hair  and  frightful  aspect,  the  sight  of  whom  turned  the 
beholder  to  stone. 

61  : 19.  Crowned  with  the  olive  spray.  See  the  notes  on 
§ 16,  Introduction. 

61  : Note.  Dorian  Apollo-worship.  The  worship  of 
Apollo,  the  god  of  the  fine  arts. — Athenian  Virgin -worship. 
The  worship  of  Minerva,  in  whose  honor  the  Parthenon  was 
erected.  Read  Lord  Byron’s  scathing  satire.  The  Curse  of 
Minerva,  which  bears  on  the  removal  of  sculpture  from 
the  Parthenon  to  the  British  Museum  some  eighty  years 
ago.  — Dionysus.  A name  for  Bacchus,  the  god  of  wine. — 
Ceres.  Daughter  of  Saturn;  the  goddess  of  agriculture 
and  fruit-culture.  Ceres  was  the  mother  of  Proserpine.  — 
Hercules.  The  son  of  Jupiter  and  Alcrnena.  Consult  an 
encyclopaedia  for  the Twelve  Labors  of  Hercules.” — Venus- 
worship.  The  worship  of  beauty.  If  a victim  was  offered 
on  her  altar,  it  was  a white  goat;  usually  incense  alone  was 
offered.  — Muses.  The  nine  daughters  of  Jupitsr  and 
Mnemosyne  : Calliope,  Clio,  Erato,  Thalia,  Melpomene, 

Terpsichore,  Euterpe,  Polyhymnia,  and  Urania.  — Aratra 
Pentelici.  To  the  original  note  Ruskin  adds  : ‘'Compare 
Aratra  Pentelici,  § 200.”  The  six  lectures  included  under 
this  title  were  delivered  at  the  University  of  Oxford  in 
1870-1872,  six  to  eight  years  later  than  the  date  of 
“Traffic.” 


304 


NOTES 


62  : 8.  Remission  of  sins.  See  Matt,  xxvi,  28;  Mark  i, 
4;  Luke  i,  77;  iii,  3;  xxiv,  47;  Acts  ii,  38;  x,  43.  See  also 
Heh.  ix,  22;  x,  18. 

62  : 15.  Melancholy.  See  note  on  § 59. 

62  : 16.  Aspiration.  The  act  of  ardently  hoping  or 
desiring. 

62  : 28.  Selling  of  absolution.  This  refers  to  the  ^^Ego 
te  absolvo  a peccatis  tuis  in  nomine  Pair  is  et  Filii  et  Spiritus 
Sancti.  Amen,’’  of  the  priest,  who  received  pay  for  the 
forgiving  of  sins. 

63  : 3.  Compounding.  Mixing  simples,  or  ingredients, 
for  a remedy. 

63  : 6.  Low  Church  or  high.  The  High  Church  holds 
to  apostolic  succession,  the  divine  right  of  episcopacy;  the 
Low  Church  does  not  regard  episcopacy  as  essential  to  the 
life  of  the  church.  In  doctrine  the  Low  Church  is  generally 
Calvinistic.  There  is  also  a Broad  Church,  the  church » to 
which  Charles  Kingsley  belonged.  The  members  of  this 
church  are  sometimes  called  ‘‘Liberals.^' 

63  : 7.  Tetzebs  trading.  Johann  Tetzel,  the  Dominican 
monk  whose  frivolous  traffic  in  indulgences  caused  Martin 
Luther  to  take  the  first,  and  many  subsequent,  steps  tow- 
ards the  Reformation. 

63  : 10.  Bals  masques.  Mask-balls. 

63  : 11.  Guillotines.  A machine  formerly  used  in  France 
for  beheading  people.  The  name  comes  from  Dr.  Guillotin, 
a French  physician,  wffio,  in  the  Constitutional  Assembly, 
1789,  proposed  to  abolish  decapitation  with  the  axe  or  sword. 
The  machine  was  originally  called  Louison,^^  or  Louisette,” 
for  the  inventor.  Dr.  Antoine  Louis.  Read  Dickens,  A 
Tale  of  Two  Cities,  Book  III,  Chapter  V. 

63  : 13.  Parthenon.  Marble  temple  of  the  Greek  god' 
dess  Athene,  or  Pallas,  on  the  Acropolis  at  Athens. 


NOTES 


305 


63  : 16.  Lady  of  Salvation.  The  Virgin  Mary.  — Revival- 
ist. People  of  the  Renaissance  period. 

63  : 17.  Versailles.  A city  in  France  some  ten  miles 
from  Paris.  Ruskin  has  reference  to  the  palace,  the  chief 
attraction  of  the  place,  which  has  a long  and  interesting 
history.  — Vatican.  The  Pope’s  palace  and  other  buildings, 
— museum,  library,  chapel,  etc.,  — on  the  western  banks 
of  the  Tiber,  in  Rome. 

63  : 23.  Tithes  of  property.  The  Old  English  tithe,  tenth. 
Tenths  of  income.  — Sevenths  of  time.  Sunday,  or  Sabbath. 

63  : 31.  Athena  Agoraia.  Ayopa,  the  forum,  market- 
place, public  square.  Agorscan,  an  epithet  of  Jupiter  and 
Mercury,  as  having  statues  or  altars  in  the  market-place. 
See  § 77.  — Athena.  1866  : “Minerva.” 

64  : 2.  Built  to  her.  Built  in  her  honor.  See  also  the 
end  of  this  paragraph. 

64  : 5.  To  make  it  an  Acropolis.  1866  : “taking  it  for 
an  Acropolis.”  Acropolis,  the  citadel  of  Athens. 

64:6.  Vaster  than  the  walls  of  Babylon.  1866:  “pro- 
longed masses  of  Acropolis.” 

64  : 7.  The  temple  of  Ephesus.  1866  : “ Parthenon.” 

64  : 9.  Harbor  piers.  1866  : “harbor-piers.” 

64  : 25.  Apollo.  Son  of  Jupiter  and  Latona.  His  favor- 
ite residence  was  Mount  Parnassus,  where  he  presided  over 
the  Muses. 

64  : 26.  Bacchus.  The  god  of  wine,  son  of  Jupiter  and 
Semele.  See  Dionysus,  § 70,  note. 

64  : 32.  Direction.  1866  : “manners.” 

65  : 3.  Strong  evidence  of  his  dislike,  etc.  Matt,  xxi,  12; 
Mark  xi,  15;  John  ii,  14,  16.  Is  not  Ruskin  overzeal ous 
here?  Surely  the  “Master  of  Christians”  was  not  eviden- 
cing his  dislike  for  proper  mercantile  transactions,  conducted 
in  the  right  place  ; but  for  buying  and  selling  in  the  temple 

X 


306 


NOTES 


of  God,  and  especially  for  selling  doves,  intended  for  sacri- 
fice, at  an  exorbitant  price,  — such  a price  that  the  dove- 
pedlers  were  “thieves/^ 

65  : 9.  Quartering.  See  note,  Introduction,  § 6.  « 

65  : 13.  Magnanimity.  Here  means  dignity,  elevation 
From  magnus  = great;  animus  = mind. 

65  : 14.  Feeding  the  hungry,  etc.  Compare  Matt,  xxv, 
36,  38,  43,  44. 

65  : 17.  Anyhow!  1866  : “anyhow?^’ 

65  : 19.  Compulsory  comfort.  Originally  followed  by  a 
semicolon,  and  with  no  footnote. 

65  : 20.  Occupying.  Originally  unitalicized. 

65  : 24.  ‘Xarry  ” them!  Originally  followed  by  a period. 

65  : 28.  Witty.  Wise;  requiring  knowledge. 

65  : 30.  The  elements.  Clouds,  winds,  etc. 

66  : 3.  Paid  little  . . . regularly.  See  § 32. 

66  : 7.  Knight-errant.  Ruskin  refers  to  the  knight  who 
travels  for  the  purpose  of  exhibiting  generosity. 

66  : 8.  Pedler.  Pedlar,  or  peddler. 

66  : 9.  Ribands.  Ribbons. 

66  : 10.  Crusades.  See  note  on  § 66. 

66  : 16.  Loaves  and  fishes.  See  Matt,  xiv,  17,  19;  xv,  36; 
Mark  vi,  38,  41,  43;  Luke  ix,  13,  16.  The  footnote  was 
not  in  the  original ; note  it  carefully. 

66  : 21.  Best  gunpowder.  Note  the  grim  humor. 

66  : 24.  Frieze.  A sculptured  or  ornamented  band  of  a 
building. 

^‘Nor  did  there  want 

Cornice  or  frieze  with  bossy  sculptures  graven.” 

— Paradise  Lost,  I,  715—716. 

66  : 25.  For  the  sticking  of  bills.  Hill-boards,  for  adver- 
tising purposes. 


NOTES 


307 


67  : Note.  Jerem.  xvii,  11,  etc.  The  Vulgate  : Perdix 
fovit  quoB  peperit:  fecit  divitias,  et  non  in  judicio : in  dimidio 
dierum  suorum  derelinquet  eas,  et  in  novissimo  suo  erit  in- 
sipiens. 

67:3.  St.  George’s  Cross.  1866  : ‘Mier  Cross.”  The 
banner  of  the  patron  saint  of  England.  The  Union  Jack” 
of  the  British  Navy  is  a combination  of  the  banners  of  St. 
George  and  St.  Andrew.  For  the  story  of  the  legendary 
St.  George,  see  Percy’s  Reliques,  Vol.  II,  pp.  160,  187-189. 
See  Ruskin’s  Queen  of  the  Air,  § 4. 

67  : 4.  Milanese  boar  . . . Gennesaret  proper.  Compare 
Gennesaret  pigs,  R.  to  N.,  Vol.  I,  p.  84.  Ruskin’s  allusion 
is  to  the  herd  of  swine  into  which  the  devils  were  cast, 
Matt,  viii,  82;  Mark  v,  13;  Luke  viii,  33.  See  also  the 
Merchant  of  Venice,  I,  iii,  30-35.  — Field.  The  whole  sur- 
face of  a shield,  or  as  much  of  it  as  is  not  covered  by  the 
figures  upon  it. 

67  : 5.  In  the  best  market.  The  original  has  no  footnote. 

67  : 7.  Thirty  slits.  Since  the  number  of  days  in  the 
months  varies  from  twenty-eight  to  thirty-one,  this  may 
be  a sly  hint  that  the  members  of  the  Exchange  are  not 
averse  to  the  Judas  bargain.” 

67  : 17.  Greek  Goddess  of  Wisdom.  Minerva;  Pallas 
Athene.  Section  78. 

67  : 21.  Agora  Goddess.  See  note  on  § 72. 

68:7.  Gather  gold.  See  Hawthorne’s  ‘^Old  Gather- 
gold,”  in  The  Great  Stone  Face. 

68  : 8.  House-roofs  [of  gold].  Are  not  the  domes  of  some 
important  buildings  now  finished  in  pure  gold?  For  ex- 
ample, the  Congressional  Library,  Washington;  and  the 
Cathedral,  Baltimore. 

68  : 15.  Olympus.  A mountain  9000  feet  high,  on  the 
coast  of  Thessaly,  where  the  gods  were  supposed  to  I'eside. 


308 


NOTES 


— Pelion.  A wooded  mountain  where  the  wars  between 
the  giants  and  the  gods  took  place. 

68  : 16.  Ossa.  A mountain  of  Thessaly  which  the  giants 
piled  on  top  of  Pelion  to  enable  them  to  attack  the  gods. 
Olympus  upon  Pelion  would  be  so  much  taller  than  Ossa 
upon  Pelion,  as  to  make  Ossa  appear  insignificant,  — ‘Mike 
a wart.^’  {Hamlet,  V,  i,  306.)  The  phraseology  of  this 
question  is  suggestive  of  Biblical  influence.  Compare  Job 
xxxviii,  31  : “Canst  thou  bind  the  sweet  influences  of  the 
Pleiades,  or  loose  the  bands  of  Orion? 

68  : 20.  Whinstone.  A provincial  name,  in  England,  for 
basaltic  rock.  Consult  the  dictionary  for  whin-dikes  and 
whin-sills, 

68  ; 21.  Not  . . . neither.  See  note  on  § 60. 

68  : 27.  Plutus.  The  blind,  lame  god  of  riches,  son  of 
Jason  and  Ceres.  Why  blind  and  lame?  Is  Ruskin  taking 
the  name  of  Plutus  in  vain? 

69  : 2.  Pallas.  When  Minerva  destroyed  the  giant, 
Pallas,  she  was  given  his  name.  Pallas  Athene  is  the  Gre- 
cian goddess  of  wisdom.  See  § 77.  — The  Madonna.  The 
mother  of  Christ. 

69  : 8.  Vital  . . . deathful.  What  is  the  origin  of  the 
word  “ vitaP^? 

69  : 11.  Last  here.  Original  note  : “‘Two  Paths,’ 

p.  98.^^ 

69  : 14.  Undulating  world.  Highlands  and  lowlands. 

69  : 20.  Votaries.  Those  consecrated  to  the  worship  of 
the  goddess. 

69  : 22.  Boudoir.  An  elegantly  furnished  private  room. 
Literally,  a place  where  one  may  be  alone  to  pout. 

69  : 28.  The  mill,  etc.  Ruskin,  like  Wordsworth,  hated 
steam-engines  and  coal  smoke.  In  letters  to  Professor 
Norton,  Ruskin  speaks  of  “ that  infernal  invention  of  steam’* 


NOTES 


309 


(Vol.  I,  p.  77);  Dickens  . . . a pure  modernist  — a leader 
of  the  steam-whistle  party’’  (Vol.  II,  p.  5). 

70  : 5.  Seen  from  above.  Seen  by  the  employer,  Ruskin 
means;  but  such  conditions  as  he  suggests  would  be  ‘‘very 
pretty  indeed,”  seen  from  Higher  Above. 

70  : 6.  Seen  from  below.  Seen  by  the  laborer,  Ruskin 
means;  but  why  “not  as  all  so  pretty”  to  from  eight  hun- 
dred to  a thousand  workers,  who  never  suffer  the  tempta- 
tions or  the  evils  of  drink;  who  are  well  paid,  for  they  “ never 
strike”;  who  have  respectable  clothes,  and  are  in  good 
health,  for  they  “always  go  to  church  on  Sunday”;  whose 
children  are  properly  trained,  and  probably  educated,  for 
they,  parents  and  children,  “always  express  themselves  in 
respectful  language”  to  each  other  and  to  their  employers. 
“Not  at  all  so  pretty,  seen  from  below.”  If  from  very  far 
below,  — granted. 

70  : 11.  Lottery  . . . blanks.  Lottery,  casting  or  draw- 
ing lots;  a gambling  scheme  in  which  some  tickets  have 
numbers  drawing  prizes;  others  are  blank. 

70  ; 14.  “They  should  take  who  have  the  power,  and  they 
should  keep  who  can.” 

— Wordsworth,  Roh  Roy’s  Grave,  lines  39,  40. 

70  : 25.  Government  . . . liberty.  What  is  liberty?  Does 
not  the  best  government  afford  the  largest  liberty?  Com- 
pare Russia  and  the  United  States  of  America. 

71  : 5.  Delicates.  Delicacies.  Compare  the  German, 
Delikatessen. 

71  : 6.  Solomon,  etc.  See  1 Kings  vi. 

71  : 25.  Even  good  things  have  no  abiding  power  — and 
shall  these  evil  things  persist  in  victorious  evil  ? 1866  : 

“ Do  you  think  these  phenomena  are  to  stay  always  in  their 
present  power  or  aspect?  ” 

71  : 29.  Parthenon.  See  notes  on  §§  70,  72. 


NOTES 


.‘ilo 

71  : 30.  Priory.  See  note  on  Cloister,  § 66. 

71  : 33.  Men  may  come,  and  men  may  go,  etc.  An 
adaptation  from  the  refrain  of  Tennyson’s  The  Brook. 

72:7.  Such  benevolence.  1866  : “it.”  — I know  that 
even  all  this  wrong.  1866  : “ I know  that  many  of  you  have 
done,  and  are  every  day  doing,  whatsoever  you  feel  to  be 
in  your  power;  and  that  even  all  this  wrong,  etc.”  Why 
this  change? 

72  : 12.  To  do  his  best  . . . modern  economist.  1866  : 
“to  do  his  best,  not  noticing  that  this  best  is  essentialb 
and  centrally  the  best  for  himself,  not  for  others.  And  all 
this  has  come  of  the  spreading  of  that  thrice  accursed,  thrice 
impious  doctrine  of  the  modern  economist.”  Consider  this 
carefully,  for  the  change  from  “thrice  accursed,  thrice  im- 
pious doctrine,”  to  “plausible  iniquity,”  is  no  small  stej). 
See  Introduction,  note,  § 8.  See  also  R.  to  N.,  Vol.  I,  pp. 
230-233. 

72  : 13.  Do  the  best  for  yourself,  etc.  What  is  the  “ Gol- 
den Rule”?  What  was  David  Harum’s  golden  rule,  in  a 
horse  trade? 

72  : 14.  Our  great  Master  said  not  so.  Reference  to  Matt. 
xxiii,  11;  Mark  x,  44. 

72  : 17.  Pagans.  Worshippers  of  false  gods. 

72  : 20.  Plato.  A celebrated  philosopher  and  teacher 
of  Athens,  who  died  on  his  eighty-first  birthday,  about 
348  B.c.  He  was  a pupil  of  Socrates.  See  note  on  § 47. 

72  : 28.  They  are  at  the  close,  etc.  1866  : “ It  is  at  the 
close,  etc.”  Why  the  change?  — Athens.  Athenae,  the 
capital  of  Attica,  reached  its  greatest  splendor  in  the  time 
of  Pericles,  460-429  b.c. 

72  : 30.  Genesis.  Formation,  or  origination. 

72  : 31.  Atlantis.  See  Ignatius  Donnelly’s  Atlantis,  the 
A nte-  Deluvian  World. 


NOTES 


311 


73:1.  Sons  of  God  . . . daughters  of  men.  8ee6Vn.  vi,2. 

73  : 11.  All  meekness  of  wisdom,  etc.  Oi  iginally  un- 
italicized. 

73  : 16.  Only  their  common  love,  etc.  Originally  un- 
italicized. 

73  : 23.  Prevalent  mortality.  The  prevailing  character- 
istics of  the  ‘daughters  of  inen.^^ 

73  : 27.  Blind  hearts.  Compare  Milton^s  ‘‘  Blind 
mouths/’  Lycidas,  119,  and  Ruskin’s  comment,  Sesame  and 
Lilies,  § 22. 

74  : 5.  Last  words,  etc.  1866  : ‘‘So  ended  are  the  last 
words.”  Note  the  improvement  : the  present  form  refers 
to  the  whole  quotation  from  Plato;  the  original  referred 
to  the  dash  at  the  end.  — The  rest  is  silence.  Hamlet,  V,  ii, 
368. 

74  : 7.  Cubits.  A cubit  is  a measure  of  length,  — the 
distance  from  the  elbow  to  the  end  of  the  middle  finger  : 
Roman,  17.47  inches;  Greek,  18.20;  English,  18. 

74  : 9.  Plain  of  Dura.  Dura  Den,  between  Cupar  and 
St.  Andrews,  in  Fifeshire,  Scotland. 

74  : 10.  Forbidden  ...  by  our  Master.  The  reference 
is  to  the  second  commandment,  Ex.  xx,  4.  See  also  Mark  x, 
23,  24;  Luke  xviii,  24. 

74  : 17.  'Hades.  The  nether  world;  the  abode  of  evil 
sf:)irits,  ruled  over  by  Pluto  (Latin),  Hades  (Greek).  A 
synonym  for  hell  (English),  Hiille  (German),  sheol  (He- 
brew). 

74  : 19.  Life  good  for  all  men.  1866  : “life  for  all  men.” 

74  : 23.  Ways  of  . . . pleasantness  . . . paths  of  peace. 
Prov.  iii,  17.  The  note  is  not  in  the  original. 

74  : 24.  Wealth  into  commonwealth.  Is  he  still  [miming? 

74  : 30.  Temples  not  made  with  hands  . . , eternal. 
2 Cor.  V,  1. 


312 


NOTES 


LECTURE  III 
War 

In  Ruskin’s  Notes  on  the  Political  Economy  of  Prussia,  he 
says:  “I  am  often  accused  of  inconsistency;  but  believe 
myself  defensible  against  the  charge  with  respect  to  what  I 
have  said  on  nearly  every  subject  except  that  of  war.  It 
is  impossible  for  me  to  write  consistently  of  war,  for  the 
group  of  facts  I have  gathered  about  it  lead  me  to  two 
precisely  opposite  conclusions. 

When  I find  this  the  case,  in  other  matters,  I am  silent, 
till  I can  choose  my  conclusion  : but,  with  respect  to  war,  I 
am  forced  to  speak,  by  the  necessities  of  time;  and  forced 
to  act,  one  way  or  another.  The  conviction  on  which  I act 
is,  that  it  causes  an  incalculable  amount  of  avoidable  human 
suffering,  and  that  it  ought  to  cease  among  Christian  na- 
tions ; and  if  therefore  any  of  my  boy-friends  desire  to  be 
soldiers,  I try  my  utmost  to  bring  them  into  what  I conceive 
to  be  a better  mind.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I know  cer- 
tainly that  the  most  beautiful  characters  yet  developed 
among  men  have  been  formed  in  w^ar ; — that  all  great  na- 
tions have  been  warrior  nations,  and  that  the  pnly  kinds 
of  peace  which  we  are  likely  to  get  in  the  present  age  are 
ruinous  alike  to  the  intellect  and  the  heart. 

*‘The  third  lecture  ...  [in  Crown  of  Wild  Olive]  ad- 
dressed to  young  soldiers,  had  for  its  object  to  strengthen 
their  trust  in  the  virtue  of  their  profession.  It  is  inconsist- 
ent with  itself,  in  its  closing  appeal  to  women,  praying  them 
to  use  their  influence  to  bring  wars  to  an  end.  . . . 

How  far,  in  the  future,  it  may  be  possible  for  men  to  gain 
the  kingship  without  either  fronting  death,  or  inflicting  it, 
seems  to  me  not  at  present  determinable.  The  historical 


NOTES 


313 


facts  are  that,  broadly  speaking,  none  but  soldiers,  or  per- 
sons with  a soldierly  faculty,  have  ever  yet  shown  themselves 
fit  to  be  kings;  and  that  no  other  men  are  so  gentle,  so  just, 
and  so  clear-sighted.  • Wordsworth’s  character  of  the  happy 
warrior  [see  Wordsworth’s  poem  entitled  Character  of  the 
Happy  Warrior]  cannot  be  reached  in  the  height  of  it 
but  by  a warrior;  nay  so  much  is  it  beyond  common  strength 
that  I had  supposed  the  entire  meaning  of  it  to  be  meta- 
phorical, until  one  of  the  best  soliders  in  England  himself  read 
me  the  poem  [Footnote  : The  late  Sir  Herbert  Edwardes.], 
and  taught  me,  what  I might  have  known,  had  I enough 
watched  his  own  life,  that  it  was  entirely  literal.  ...” 

That  Ruskin  thought  deeply  and  seriously  on  the  subject 
of  war  is  clear  to  those  familiar  with  his  works.  In  Sesame 
and  Lilies  (Lecture  I,  § 47)  he  says  : ‘'Have  patience  with 
me,  while  I read  you  a single  sentence  out  of  the  only  book 
[ Unto  this  Last]  properly  to  be  called  a book,  that  I have  yet 
written  myself,  the  one  that  will  stand  (if  anything  stand) 
surest  and.  longest  of  all  work  of  mine.”  (Here  follows 
two  long  sentences- — footnote  to  § 76  — on  the  subject 
of  unjust  wars  supported  by  the  wealth  of  capitalists.) 

In  connection  with  this  lecture  on  war,  one  should  read 
also  §§  11,  17,  21,  and  57  of  Unto  this  Last.  It  would  be 
well  to  reread,  from  the  text  in  hand,  §§  9,  28,  32,  38,  45,  48, 
and  75;  and  to  read,  in  advance,  §§  105,  114,  115,  116,  117, 
118,  and  119. 

Note  the  felicitous  opening  of  this  lecture  as  compared 
with  the  first  paragraph  on  "Traffic.’^ 

75  : 17.  Knightly  example.  The  example  of  protecting 
the  distressed,  maintaining  the  right,  and  living  a stainless 
life. 

76  : 18.  Few  words.  Men  of  great  deeds  are  usually  men 
of  few  words.  We  have  this  idea  in  some  plain  sayings 


314 


NOTES 


“Barking  dogs  never  bite^';  “The  emptier  the  wagon  the 
louder  it  sounds.” 

76  : 28.  Tintoret.  Jacopo  Robusti  (II  Tintoretto  or 
Tintoret)  (1518-1594)  was  one  of  the  greatest  painters  of 
the  Venetian  school,  or  of  the  world.  His  father  was  a dyer 
(Italian,  Tintore);  hence  the  son’s  nickname,  which  means 
little  dyer. 

77  : 19.  Samuel.  As  a religious  judge,  see  1 Sam.  vii; 
viii,  1. 

78  : 1.  Lyre.  A musical  instrument  from  which  we  get 
the  word  lyric. 

78  : 17.  Modern.  Xo  footnote  in  the  original. 

' 78  : 23.  A gift  for  fighting.  Keats  was  a pugnacious 
schoolboy;  but  all  boys  who  love  a fight  are  not  poets. 

78  : 28.  Paradoxical.  Seemingly  contradictory. 

78  : 30.  Born  of  Mars,  etc.  Romulus,  twin  brother  of 
Remus. 

79  : 4.  Pads  imponere  morem.  To  enforce  the  habit  or 
custom  of  peace. 

79  : 12.  Lombardy.  The  name  is  supposed  to  be  from 
the  Longohardi  or  Langohardi,  a people  of  northern  Ger- 
many, west  of  the  Elbe,  and  afterwards  in  northern  Italy. 
Lombardy  was  at  one  time  the  name  of  Italy. 

79  : 14.  Alps.  Some  sixteen  groups  of  mountains,  among 
which  are  the  Swiss  Alps,  the  Lombard  Alps,  the  Tyrol  and 
Venetian  Alps.  — Apennines.  A range  of  mountains  forming 
the  backbone  of  the  peninsula  of  Italy.  A southern  branch 
of  the  Alpine  system. 

79  : 19.  Their  king.  X'o  footnote  in  the  original. 

79  : 29.  Philanthropist.  From  philos  -f-  anthropos:  phil  + 
anthropia:  loving -}- man. 

80  : 20.  Muse  of  History.  Clio,  daughter  of  Jupiter  and 
Mnemosyne. 


NOTES 


315 


80  : 2S.  Expired  in  peace.  In  time  of  peace. 

80  : 31.  Dragon's  teeth  . . . men.  These  men  sprang, 
armed,  from  the  dragon's  teeth  sown  by  Cadmus.  They 
were  called  Sparti  (The  Sown-Men).  — Genseric  or  Genserich 
{cir.  406-477),  king  of  the  Vandals.  Though  a small,  lame, 
mean  man,  he  was  a renowned  warrior.  — Suwarrow. 
Count  Alexander  Suwaroff  (or  Suwarrow),  born  in  Finland, 
Nov.  25,  1729;  died  in  St.  Petersburg,  May  18,  1800.  A 
celebrated  Russian  field-marshal,  of  Swedish  descent.  He 
was  specially  noted  for  his  cruelty. 

81  : 1.  Borders  of  Scotland.  Between  Scotland  and 
England;  the  section  of  country  that  furnishes  Scott,  and 
other  balladists  and  novelists,  with  many  thrilling  scenes 
and  events. 

81  : 3.  Swiss  with  Austria.  See  articles  on  Austria  and 
Switzerland,  in  history  or  cyclopaedia. 

81  : 5.  France  under  Napoleon.  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
(1769-1821).  First  consul  of  the  Republic,  1799-1804; 
Emperor,  1804-1814. 

81  : 6.  War  in  America.  The  Civil  War,  1861-1865. 

81  : 17.  Out  of  such  war.  Originally  : ‘'forth  from 

such  war." 

81  : 27.  Conscript  . . . pressed  sailor.  A sailor  enrolled, 
by  compulsion,  for  naval  service. 

82  : 8.  Calamity.  The  footnote  is  not  in  the  original. 

82  : 20.  Laborious  orders.  Laborers. 

82  : 21.  Puppets,  etc.  Things  to  shoot  at. 

82  : 22.  The  footnote  is  not  in  the  original. 

82  : 25.  Multitude  of  human  pawns.  Originally  : “ mul- 
titude of  small  human  pawns." 

83  : 3.  Checker  of  forest  and  field.  Originally  : “green 
fielded  board." 

83  : 5.  Olympic  dust.  Dust  in  the  arena  of  the  Olympic 


316 


NOTES 


games.  See  notes,  Olympic  games,  § 38;  Isthmian  games, 
§ 29. 

83  : 6.  Be  with  you  in.  Can  this  construction  be  im- 
proved? 

83  : 8.  Amphitheatre  . . . arena  . . . peasant  . . . glad- 
iatorial war.  The  text  seems  to  be  sufficiently  explanatory. 
If  it  is  not,  any  school  dictionary  will  give  the  meanings  of 
these  words. 

83  : 14.  Jousting.  Engaging  in  mock  combat  on  horse- 
back, as  knights  in  the  lists.  The  word  is  also  spelled  just, 
and  seems  to  be  akin  to  jostle.  See  note  on  § 100. 

84  : 1.  Speaking  with  them.  Originally  : ‘‘speaking  for 
them.^’ 

84  : 22.  Battersea.  A suburb  of  London,  in  Surrey,  on 
the  Thames. 

84  : 25.  Arbitrament.  Here  the  word  means  decision. 

84  : 30.  Laws  of  honor.  This  means  here  : Certain  rules 
regulating  duelling,  and  making  it  a social  crime  to  decline 
a challenge  to  a duel. 

85  : 9.  Greatest  of  English  thinkers.  Thomas  Carlyle. 

85  : 21.  Thirty  stone  avoirdupois.  The  stone  is  legally 
fourteen  pounds.  30  x 14  = 420  pounds,  a pretty  heavy 
weight  for  the  weakest  to  stand  under.  The  stone,  however, 
varies,  from  five  to  thirty-two  pounds,  according  to  the 
article  weighed. 

86  : 3.  Busy  as  the  devil  is.  The  reference  seems  to  be 
to  1 Peter,  v,  8 : “The  devil,  as  a roaring  lion,  walketh 
about,  seeking  whom  he  may  devour.” 

86  : 9.  Sartor  Resartus.  The  title  of  one  of  Carlyle’s 
books.  The  title  means  : The  tailor  retailored. 

86  : 18.  Fine  race  of  them.  Is  this  irony? 

86  : 20.  Tournament  . . . steeple  chase.  Tournament, 
a mock  fight  in  which  a number  of  combatants  w^ere  en- 


NOTES 


317 


gaged.  The  joust  was  a trial  of  the  skill  of  two,  one  against 
the  other.  See  note  on  § 97.  Steeple  chase,  a cross-country 
ride,  over  ditches,  walls,  or  natural  barriers,  towards  sofne 
visible  object  — as  a church  steeple. 

86  : 22.  Hurdle-races  . . . cricketing.  Hurdle-race,  a 
race  in  which  artificial  barriers,  hurdles,  fences,  etc.,  must 
be  leaped.  Cricketing.  See  note  on  § 60. 

86  : 27.  Westminster  Abbey.  The  coronation  church  of 
the  sovereigns  of  England,  containing  monuments  to  kings, 
poets,  warriors,  statesmen,  scientists,  and  others. 

87  : 10.  Rather  slay  him  . . . than  cheat  him.  Is  not 
Ruskin  extreme?  A cheated  man  may  be  a brisk,  useful 
craftsman, whereas  a slain  man  would  be  but  a ^Mead 
carcase. 

87  : 31.  Power  both  in  the  making,  etc.  Originally  : “a 
tendency  both  to  the  making,  etc.” 

88  : 3.  Got.  Suggest  a better  word,  or  a better  construc- 
tion. 

88  : 12.  Rightly.  The  footnote  is  not  in  the  original. 

88  : 20.  Mr.  Helps.  Sir  Arthur  Helps  (1813-1857).  Rus- 
kin calls  attention  to  his  beautiful  quiet  English,”  and  the 
sincerity  of  his  thinking,  in  Modern  Painters,  1856,  III,  268. 

88  : 29.  Destructive  machines.  Implements  of  warfare, 
as  machine  guns. 

89:3.  Leave  the  living  creatures.  Originally:  ‘Meave 
the  fragments  of  living  creatures.” 

89  : 10.  Poisoned  arrows.  The  Indians  are  said  to  have 
poisoned  the  points  of  their  arrows,  so  that  an  otherwise 
slight  wound  meant  death. 

89  : 21.  Muller’s  ‘‘Dorians.”  Karl  Otfried  Muller  (1797- 
1840).  A noted  archaeologist;  author  of  Die  Dorier  (The 
Dorians),  and  many  other  works.  There  is  no  footnote  in 
the  original. 


318 


NOTES 


89  : 23.  Sparta.  The  original  name  of  this  country, 
Laconia,  was  changed  to  Lacedaemon,  for  the  king,  and  then 
by  him  to  Sparta,  for  his  wife. 

89  : 25.  Xvo-cra.  Madness,  frenzy.  In  the  Iliad,  ix,  305, 
\<f<7aa  means  rage,  fury.  — Aristodemus.  Son  of  Aristom- 
achus  ; brother  of  Temenus  and  Chrespontes  ; husband 
of  Argia;  father  of  the  twins,  Procles  and  Eurysthenes.  He 
and  his  brothers  conquered  Peloponnesus,  and  divided  it 
among  themselves,  1104  b.c.  — Isadas.  A Spartan,  who, 
upon  seeing  the  Thebans  entering  the  city,  stripped  himself 
naked  and,  with  a sword  and  a spear,  engaged  +he  enemy. 
For  his  valor  he  w'as  rewarded  with  a crown. 

89  : 28.  Barbarians.  In  the  time  of  Homer,  those  who 
could  not  speak  the  Greek  language.  Plato  divided  the 
human  race  into  Hellenes  and  Barbaroi. 

89  : 32.  Crete.  A large  island  in  the  Mediterranean,  in 
ancient  times  called  Idoea,  and  later,  Crete,  or  Creta. 

90  : 14.  Interdicted.  Inter,  between,  + dicer e,  to  say. 
Here  the  word  means  prohibited. 

90  : 22.  Musical  language.  Ruskin  is,  in  this  sentence, 
bitterly  sarcastic.  The  musical  language  he  refers  to  is 
martial,  such  as  ‘^Dixie’^  and  ‘^Yankee  Doodle.^^ 

90  : 25.  Battle  of  Corinth.  A battle  fought  at  the  ancient 
city  of  Corinth,  which  is  located  on  the  isthmus  connecting 
Hellas  with  the  Peloponnesus. 

90  : 26.  Gettysburg.  Gettysburg,  Pennsylvania,  where 
one  of  the  great  battles  of  the  Civil  War  was  fought. 

91  : 24.  Mother  . . . gives  her  two-year-old  child,  etc. 
Probably  an  actual  occurrence,  the  account  of  which  was 
preserved  by  Ruskin  in  the  form  of  a newspaper  clipping. 

91  : 29.  Creed.  A summary  of  what  one  believes. 

92  : 14.  Made  you  upright,  etc.  See  Ecd.  vii,  29.  There 
should  be  no  cpiotaticui  marks  here. 


NOTES 


319 


92  : 19.  My  righteousness,  etc.  An  exact  quotation  of  Job 

xxvii,  6.  , 

93  ; 27.  Sections  109  and  110  were,  originally,  one  section. 
Why  did  Ruskin  make  the  change? 

93  : 30.  Plebeian.  Latin  ylehs,  the  common  people. 

94  : 5.  Captain  by  divine  right.  The  king. 

94  : 6.  Hues.  Colors. 

94  : 32.  This  was,  originally,  included  in  the  preceding 
section.  Why  the  change? 

95  : 26.  Farther.  Why  should  this  be  further  ^^?  (This 
mistake  is  made  so  frequently,  by  Ruskin,  that  no  further 
reference  to  it  is  necessary.) 

96  : 15.  The  strength  is  in  the  men.  One  of  Sidney 

Lanier^s  dialect  poems  has  for  title  : Tharps  More  in  the 

Man  than  thar  is  in  the  Land.^^ 

96  : 17.  A little  group  of  wise  hearts  is  better  than  a wil- 
derness full  of  fools.  This  could  pass  for  one  of  Solomon’s 
proverbs.  What  does  Shylock  say  about  a wilderness  of 
monkeys? 

96  : 24.  We  have  not  yet  strengthened,  etc.  If  not,  why 
not  ? Did  not  Burke  prophesy  this  in  his  speech  on  the 
Conciliation? 

96  : 31.  Austria.  The  Austro-Hungarian  Monarchy,  the 
body  of  whose  territory  lies  in  the  interior  of  Europe,  with 
some  500  miles  of  sea-coast  on  the  Adriatic. 

97  : 1.  India.  Those  parts  of  India  under  the  adminis- 
tration of  a British  Viceroy. 

97  : 5.  This  section  and  the  preceding  section  were, 
originally,  one.  Is  there  a reason  for  the  change? 

97  : 26.  Sections  117,  IIS,  119,  and  120  were,  originally, 
one.  Why  the  change? 

98  : 21.  Peacocky  motives.  Tl>e  peacock  is  proud  of  his 
brilliant  plumage.  Is  he  proud  of  his  feet? 


320 


NOTES 


99  : 12.  SxRy  scabbarded.  Keep  swords,  or  daggers,  in 
the  scabbard. 

99  : 15.  Britomart.  In  Spenser ^s  Faerie  Queene,  Books 
III  and  IV.  Britomart  represents  armed  Chastity  over- 
coming all  who  battle  with  her.  Ruskin  mentions  her  in 
Sesame  and  Lilies,  § 62. 

99  : 17.  Sheathed  in  darkness.  Scabbarded  in  the  grave; 
dead. 

100  : 25.  Exeter  Hall.  A large  building,  in  London,  on 
the  north  side  of  the  Strand,  used  for  religious,  dramatic, 
and  musical  purposes. 

100  : 30.  Beadles  of  her  little  Bethels.  Hebrew  Beth-el, 
house  of  God.  Beaale  here  means  an  inferior  parish  officer 
who  preserves  order  in  church  service,  and  chastises  petty 
offenders. 

100  : 31.  Originally,  sections  121, 122,  123,  124,  125,  were 
one.  Why  the  breaking  up? 

101  : 29.  Only.  Is  this  word  in  the  right  place? 

102  : 3.  Aristocracy  of  England.  Superiors  in  rank  or 
fortune. 

102  : 9.  A bit  of  paper  in  my  hand.  Ruskin  clipped 
freely  from  current  newspapers,  and  often  carried  clip- 
pings with  him  and  read  them  to  his  audience,  — possibly 
for  the  effect  the  presentation  of  the  original  would 
have. 

102  : Note.  Left  the  number,  etc.  How  would  this  ^‘en- 
able the  audience  to  verify  the  quoted  sentence  ^^?  — Baron 
Liebig.  Justus,  Baron  von  Liebig  (1803-1873).  A cele- 
brated chemist;  professor  of  chemistry  at  Giessen,  and 
later,  at  Munich.  — Alembics.  An  apparatus  formerly  used 
in  distillation, 

103:4.  Ashes  to  ashes. Ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to 
dust.’'  This  sentence  is  used  in  the  burial  service. 


NOTES  ^21 

103  : 6.  Gentlemen  of  England.  In  the  original  (1866) 
Ruskin  said,  ‘‘I  tell  you,  gentlemen  of  England.''  Which 
is  better? 

103  : 13.  Field  . . . faces.  What  is  the  connection  be- 
tween green  fields  and  ruddy  faces? 

103  : 16.  Nor  the  sky  black  over  their  heads.  Originally, 
this  v/as  followed  by  : “ and  that,  when  the  day  comes  for 
their  country  to  lay  her  honours  in  the  dust,  her  crest  will 
not  rise  from  it  more  loftily  because  of  its  dust  of  coal. 
Gentlemen,  I tell  you,  solemnly,  that  the  day  is  coming 
when  the  soldiers  of  England  must  be  her  tutors  and  the 
captains  of  her  army,  captains  also  of  her  mind."  Ruskin's 
omitting  this  does  not  indicate  a change  in  his  opinion, 
but  rather,  an  unwillingness  to  prophesy  what  he  was 
opposed  to. 

103  : 17.  And  bear  with  me,  etc.  Originally  : And  now, 

remember,  etc." 

103:21.  If  I urge  you,  etc.  Originally:  ‘^Remember 
that  your  fitness  for  all  future  trust  depends  upon  what 
you  are  now." 

104  : 7.  When  his  every  act,  etc.  Originally  : When  his 

every  act  is  a foundation  of  future  conduct."  Which  is 
better? 

104  : 12.  There.  Unitalicized  in  the  original. 

104  : 13.  This  and  the  succeeding  sections  were,  origi- 
nally, one. 

106  : 2.  Integer  vitae,  scelerisque  purus.  The  man  pure 
in  life  and  free  from  guilt.  Horace,  Ode,  xxii,  1. 

106  : 4.  A knightly  life.  See  note  below  on  Vow  of 
stainless  truth." 

106  : 9.  Equites  . . . chivalry.  See  the  Latin  and  the 
French  for  horse,  and  note  the  difference  between  the  Eng- 
lish words  equestrian  and  chivalrous. 

Y 


322 


NOTES 


106  : 16.  You  must  bind  them,  etc.  The  allusion  is  to 
Prov.  hi,  3. 

106  : 18.  Vow  of  stainless  truth. 

*^The  King 

Will  bind  thee  by  such  vows  as  is  a shame 
A man  should  not  be  bound  by,  yet  the  whicl 
No  man  can  keep.^^ 

— Tennyson,  Gareth  and  Lynette,  lines  265-268. 

106  : 31.  This  number  (129)  covers  practically  two  sec- 
tions of  the  same  paragraph,  since  the  first  is  merely  intro- 
ductory to  the  second. 

108  : 3.  Watch  . . . and  pray  . . . temptation.  Prob- 
ably suggested  by  Matt,  xxvi,  41  : Watch  and  pray,  that 

ye  enter  not  into  temptation.” 

108  : 23.  Whatever  of  best.  Originally  : Whatever  of 

the  best.”  The  change  was  doubtless  made  in  conformity 
to  “whatever  of  highest,”  which  follows,  and  which  is  the 
same  in  both  original  and  revision. 

109  : 1 . Beat  swords  into  ploughshares.  Is.  ii,  4 ; Micah 
iv,  3. 

109  : 16.  Put  a period  to  war.  End  it. 

109  : 26.  Obedience.  Compare  1 Sam.  xv,  22. 

110  : 2.  Bibles  being  attacked.  See  note  on  Bishop 
Colenso,  § 34. 

110  ; 7.  Dress  plainly.  See  2 Tim.  ii,  9. 

110  : 9.  Have  pity  on  the  poor.  See  Matt,  xix,  ; Prov. 
xiv,  21;  xvii,  5,  and  elsewhere. 

110  : 19.  Prince  of  Peace.  The  name  given  to  Christ. 
See  Is.  ix,  6. 

110  : 20.  In  righteousness,  etc.  Exact  quotation  of  Rev. 
xix,  11,  except  that  the  commn  is  inserted. 


NOTES 


323 


THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  AIR 

I.  ATHENA  CHALINITIS 
. {Athena  in  the  Heavens) 

Denmark  Hill,  April  12,  1869, 

‘‘  Dearest  Charles.  — 

“ I must  stay  six  days  longer  [‘  He  was  about  setting  out  for 
Italy,  with  intent  to  make  a long  stay  at  Verona/  — Pro- 
fessor Norton.]  — till  Monday  fortnight,  this  work  has  grown 
under  my  hands  so.  It  is  to  be  called  ^ Queen  of  the  Air/ 
and  [is  to  be]  divided  into  three  sections  : — 

1 

Athena  in  the  Heavens 
2 

Athena  in  the  Earth 
3 

Athena  in  the  Heart 

^^That  is  to  say,  of  course,  the  spirit  in  the  winds,  the  spirit 
in  the  potter’s  clay,  and  in  the  Invention  of  Arts;  and  I’m 
going  to  get  what  I mainly  mean  about  ‘didactic  Art’  said 
unmistakably  in  the  last  section,  against  the  rascally  im- 
moral Gift’  set  of  people  on  the  one  side.  . . . Ever  Yours, 
J.  R.”  {R.  to  N.,  Vol.  I,  pp.  199,  200.) 

A few  days  later  (April  28,  1869),  Ruskin  wrote  to  Pro- 
fessor Norton  (Vol.  I,  p.  204),  ‘V  . . Write  me  a title- 
page  ...  to  go  with  all  the  series,  and  with  ' Queen  of 
the  Air’  subordinate.”  The  fact  that  ‘^The  Queen  of  the 
Air”  is  the  title,  rather  than  the  sub-title,  of  the  series,  is 
probably  due  to  a suggestion  by  Professor  Norton. 


324 


NOTES 


For  the  meaning  ana  derivation  of  Athene,  see  Gayley’s 
Classic  Myths,  Boston,  1900,  p.  416,  § 35.  Read,  at  once, 
also,  §§  10  and  14  of  this  Lecture  Athena  in  the  Heavens 
and  the  footnote,  p.  153. 

Ruskin  did  not  revise  the  Queen  of  the  Air. 

PREFACE 

113  : 15.  Charles  Newton.  Charles  Thomas  Newton 
(1816-1866),  classical  archaeologist,  author,  and  diplomat. 
He  married  the  daughter  of  Joseph  Severn,  Keats's  friend, 
who  inspired  the  latter  with  such  themes  as  the  Ode  to  a 
Grecian  Urn. 

114  : 6.  Professor  Tyndall.  John  Tyndall  (1820-1893), 
a noted  English  scientist;  professor  of  natural  philosophy 
in  the  Royal  Institution. 

114  : 16.  Athena.  Sesame  and  Lilies,  §§  45  and  62; 
Cayley's  Classic  Myths,  pp.  7,  16-18. 

115  : 10.  Smoke  . . . volcanic  fires.  Compare  note, 

§ 79. 

115  : 24.  Neuchatel.  Port,  town,  canton,  and  lake  in 
the  valley  of  the  Aar,  Switzerland.  — Jura.  An  extensive 
range  of  mountains  in  Switzerland  and  France. 

115  : 26.  Saponaria.  Saponaria  officinalis,  or  soapwort, 
a plant  containing  saponin,  which,  like  soap,  is  soluble,  in 
all  proportions,  in  water. 

115  ^ 34.  “Aux  Botanistes, 

Le  club  Jurassique." 

To  the  botanists, 

Of  the  club  of  Jura. 

116  : 3.  Asmodeus.  In  latter  Jewish  demonology,  a 
destructive  devil.  See  Paradise  Lost,  iv,  168.  Read  the 
interesting  story  of  how  Asmodeus  became  a “lame  devil." 


NOTES 


325 


LECTURE  I 

117  : 2.  Greek  Mythology.  Myths,  or  fables,  of  the  gods 
of  the  Greeks. 

117  : Note.  Bellerophon.  The  hero  who  destroyed 
Chimsera.  — Pegasus.  The  winged  horse  which  was  said 
to  have  sprung  from  the  blood  of  Medusa,  when  Perseus 
cut  off  her  head. 

118  : 6.  There  is  no  God/^  ^^The  fool  hath  said  in  his 
heart.  There  is  no  God.^^  Ps.  liii,  1. 

118  : 15.  Lerna.  The  lake,  or  swamp,  near  Argos.  The 
water-serpent  slain  by  Hercules  was  the  Lern^ean  Hydra. 

118  : 19.  Miasmata.  The  plural  of  miasma,  which  means 
infectious  germs  floating  in  the  air. 

120  : 11.  St.  George  and  the  Dragon.  The  Faerie  Queene, 
Canto  XI,  describes  the  dragon,  tells  of  the  three  days’ 
fight,  and  of  the  knight’s  victory  on  the  third  day. 

120  : 16.  Hercules  and  the  Hydra.  See  notes  on  the 
preceding  section,  and  on  § 70. 

120  : 21.  Original.  Some  of  the  texts  have  origin  ” here. 

120  : 28.  St.  George,  the  Red  Cross  Knight  of  Spenser. 
See  note,  § 3,  p.  142.  Edmund  Spenser  (1552-1599),  one 
of  the  greatest  of  English  poets.  Pan  coast  {Introduction 
to  English  Literature,  New  York,  1907,  pp.  207,  208)  says  : 
Spenser  stands  alone.  He  is  the  one  supremely  great  un- 
dramatic  poet  of  a play-writing  time.” 

120  : 33.  Knight  of  the  Garter.  The  highest  order  of 
knighthood  in  Great  Britain,  instituted  by  Edward  III. 

121  : 1.  George  and  Dragon  of  a public-house.  The 
painted  sign  at,  or  over,  the  door,  such  as  the  King  George- 
General  Washington  sign  at  the  Union  Hotel,  kept  by 
Jonathan  Doolittle.  See  Rip  Van  Winkle. 


326 


NOTES 


121  : 3.  The  mean  person.  The  uneducated,  or  unin- 
formed. 

121  : 8.  Hercules.  The  lines  quoted  are  from  jEneid, 
viii,  299,  300. 

123  : 8.  Don’t.  Would  not  ‘'do  not^’  look  better,  and 
sound  better? 

123  : 28.  Legend.  The  word  means  here,  a wonderful 
story  of  the  past. 

123  : 31.  Burgeons  out.  Old  English  burjoun,  a bud. 
Burgeons,  or  bourgeons,  to  sprout,  to  put  forth  buds. 

123  : 32.  Leaf  by  leaf  . . . milky  stem  and  honied  bell. 
What  figure  of  speech? 

124  : 18.  Fantasy.  Fancy,  an  imaginative  conception, 

125  : 11.  Rejoiced  as  a strong  man,  etc.  The  reference  is 
to  Ps.  xix,  5,  6.  The  preceding  eight  paragraphs  are  in 
the  nature  of  an  introduction. 

125  : 16.  Pindar.  A lyric  poet  of  Thebes.  He  is  said 
to  have  died  at  the  age  of  eighty-six,  435  b.c.  What  is 
the  story  about  the  swarm  of  bees  leaving  some  honey  on 
his  lips  when  he  was  young?  — iEschylus.  A soldier  and 
dramatic  poet  of  Athens,  son  of  Euphorion.  He  was  in 
the  battles  of  Marathon,  Salamis,  and  Platsea.  A tortoise 
fell  on  his  head  and  killed  him,  456  b.c.  Where  did  the 
tortoise  fall  from?  What  is  the  story  “Uncle  Remus” 
tells  about  “Brer  Tarrypin”  on  the  water-shelf,  in  Mr. 
Terrapin  Appears  upon  the  Scene? 

125  ; 27.  Earth  . . . water  . . . fire  . . . air.  In  ^Milton’s 
day,  matter  was  thought  to  be  subject  to  four  primar}" 
forces  — “ Hot,  Cold,  Moist,  and  Dry,”  and  objects  fell  into 
four  classes,  of  which  earth,  air,  water,  and  fire  were  types. 

125  : 28.  Demeter  (Ceres).  See  note,  $ 70. 

125  : 29.  Poseidon  (Neptune).  God  of  the  sea;  son  of 
Saturn  and  Cybele;  brother  to  Jupiter  and  Pluto;  husband 


NOTES 


327 


of  Amphitrite;  father  of  Triton,  Polyphemus,  Phoreus,  and 
Proteus.  With  a trident  he  ruled  the  waves.  When  he 
appeared  on  the  ocean  there  was  a dead  calm. 

126  : 14.  ‘^Dust  thou  art,  etc.”  Gen.  hi,  19. 

126  : 18.  Proserpine  . . . Queen  of  Fate.  Daughter  of 
Jupiter  and  Ceres.  She  became  the  wife  of  Pluto,  and  was 
known  as  ‘^The  Queen  of  Hell.”  The  Greeks  called  her 
Persephone.  Read  Swinburne’s  Garden  of  Prosperine. 

126  : 24.  The  voice  of  thy  brother’s  blood,  etc.  Gen.  iv,  10. 

126  : 26.  Lord  of  grain.  Side  by  side,”  seems  to  indicate 
that  Ruskin  refers  to  Pluto;  but  Cronus  is  the  god  of  ripen- 
ing, harvest,  and  maturity. 

127  : 1.  (i)  Neptune  ...  (2)  Nereus  ...  (3)  Palaemon 
. . . (4)  Leucothea  ...  (5)  Thetis.  (1)  See  note,  § 10, 
(2)  Nereus,  son  of  Pontus  and  Gaea,  husband  of  Diros, 
father  of  the  fifty  Nereides;  (3)  Palaemon,  or  Palemon,  a 
god  of  the  sea,  son  of  Athamas  and  I no  — originally  named 
Malicerta,  he  assumed  the  name  of  Palaemon  when  Neptune 
changed  him  into  a sea-god,  (4)  Lucothea,  the  name  of 
Ino  after  she  became  a sea-nymph;  (5)  Thetis,  a sea-god- 
dess, daughter  of  Nereus  and  Doris,  wife  of  Peleus,  mother 
of  Achilles. 

127  : c.  '^Suffer  a sea  change.’’  The  Tempest,  I,  ii,  line 
398. 

127  : 9.  “ Fountain  Arethuse,  etc.”  Milton’s  Lycidas,  lines 
85,  86. 

127  : 13.  Hair,  as  the  sign  of  the  strength  of  life.  Com- 
pare Judges  xvi,  17.  See  {1  Cor.  xi,  14)  what  St.  Paul  has 
to  say  of  a man  Avho  has  long  hair. 

127  : 18.  Horse  . . . sea-wave,  animated  and  bridled. 

“The  wild  white  horses  foam  and  fret.” 

— Matthew  Arnold,  The  Forsaken  Merman,  line  21. 


328 


NOTES 


127  : 20.  Hephaestus.  The  Greek  Vulcan,  smith  of  the 
gods. 

127  : 30.  Mars.  The  god  of  war;  son  of  Jupiter  and  Juno; 
husband  of  Venus;  father  of  Cupid,  Anteros,  and  Harmonia. 
What  connection  is  there  between  the  month  of  March  and 
Mars? 

128  : 1.  Queen  of  the  breath  of  man.  See  note,  § 31. 

129  : 4.  Gorgonian  cold.  See  note,  § 69.  Perseus  cut 
off  the  head  of  Medusa  and  gave  it  to  Minerva.  She  placed 
it  on  her  aegis  (shield),  and  it  turned  into  stone  all  who 
gazed  upon  it. 

129  : 8.  Queen  of  maidenhood  — stainless  as  the  air  of 
heaven.  Compare  Tennyson ^s  Lancelot  and  Elaine,  lines  1 
and  2: — 

^‘Elaine  the  fair,  Elaine  the  lovable, 

Elaine,  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat.’^ 

129  : 19.  Odysseus.  Latin,  Ulysses,  or  Ulixes.  See 
note,  § 39. 

129  : 26.  Note,  § 41. 

130  : 1.  Didactic  in  their  essence,  as  all  good  art  is. 

Read  Poe’s  essay,  “The  Poetic  Principle,”  especially  §§  Il- 
ls, noting  how,  in  so  far  as  poetry  is  concerned,  he  dis- 
agrees with  Ruskin. 

130  : 25.  Chrysippus.  A stoic  philosopher  of  Tarsus, 
who  wrote  over  three  hundred  treatises.  There  is  a story 
that  he  died  from  laughing  too  much  at  the  sight  of  an 
ass  eating  figs  from  a silver  plate, 

130  : 26.  Grantor.  A philosopher  of  Soli;  he  was  among 
the  pupils  of  Plato,  510  b.c. 

131  : 13.  Hesiod.  A celebrated  Greek  poet,  and  supposed 
contemporary  ot  Homer. 

131  : 32.  See  visions  and  dream  dreams.  Compare  Joel 

ii,  28. 


NOTES 


329 


132  : 2.  Keats.  John  Keats  (1795-1821),  an  English  poet 
who  has  hardly  been  surpassed  in  “ exquisite  sensibility  to 
the  beauty  of  the  things  of  sense. (Pancoast.) 

132  : 3.  Morris.  William  Morris  (1834-1896),  English 
painter,  a.rchitect,  and  poet.  His  life  was  devoted  to  stim- 
ulating a love  of  the  beautiful  in  household  decoration, 
book-making,  literature,  etc.  In  his  later  years,  he  faced, 
as  Ruskin  did,  the  pressing  social  questions  of  his  time, 
and  strove  manfully  to  set  the  crooked  straight.’^  (Pan- 
coast.) 

132  : 7.  Reynolds.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  (1723-1793), 
one  of  the  greatest  portrait-painters  of  England.  He  was 
a contemporary  and  friend  of  Goldsmith,  Burke,  and  John- 
son.— Gainsborough.  Thomas  Gainsborough  (1727-1788), 
a noted  English  painter. 

133  : 1.  ^olus.  Son  of  Hippotas,  inventor  of  sails, 
ruler  of  storms  and  winds.  What  is  an  ^olian  harp? 
Where  is  ^olia,  or  ^olis? 

133  : 2.  ^‘Sage  Hippotades’’  of  Milton.  SeeLycic^as,  line 
96.  John  Milton  (1608-1674),  the  greatest  epic  poet  known 
to  the  world  of  English  literature. 

133  : 6.  But  hear  Homer,  etc.  The  description  which 
follows  is  taken  from  the  beginning  of  the  tenth  book  of 
the  Cdyssey. 

133  : 20.  Danae.  Daughter  of  Acrisius  and  Eurydice, 
mother  of  Perseus. 

133  : 30.  JEolns  gives  them  to  Ulysses,  all  but  one,  bound 
in  leathern  bags.  Professor  Norton  (R.  to  A^.,  Vol.  Ill, 
pp.  20,  21)  called  Ruskin^s  attention  to  a mistake  here: 
“But  it  was  only  Hhe  blustering  wind^  . . . (Od[yssey] 
X,  20)  that  iEolus  had  tied  up.^’  To  this  Ruskin  replied: 
“That  is  indeed  an  important  mistake  about  the  bag.  Of 
course  these  stories  are  all  first  fixed  in  my  mind  by  my  boy’s 


330 


NOTES 


[his  own]  reading  of  Pope  — then  I read  in  the  Greek  rapidly 
to  hunt  out  the  points  I want  to  work  on,  and  I am  always 
liable  to  miss  an  immaterial  point  . . 

134  : 8.  Lipari.  The  largest  of  the  ^Eolian  Islands,  on 
the  coast  of  Sicily.  See  VirgiPs  JEneid,  viii,  417. 

134  : 9.  Diodorus.  Siculus  Diodorus,  author  of  histories 
of  Egypt,  Persia,  S3rria,  Media,  Greece,  and  Carthage. 

134  : 10.  Sorrento.  A town  in  the  province  of  Naples, 
Italy.  It  is  located  on  the  Bay  of  Naples,  sixteen  miles 
from  the  city  of  Naples. 

134  : 13.  Boreas.  Boreas,  or  Aquilo,  the  north  wind. 
Homer  {Iliad,  223),  says  Boreas,  out  of  love  for  the  muses 
of  Ericthonius,  turned  himself  into  a horse. 

134  : 16.  Oreithyia.  Oreithyia  (Orithyia),  daughter  of 
Erectheus,  king  of  Athens,  was  loved  by  Boreas.  He  had 
to  take  her  by  force,  because  he  could  not  play  the  lover’s 
part  by  breathing  gently  or  sighing. 

134  : 17.  Ilissus.  A river  of  Attica. 

134  : 21.  The  Harpies,  .^llo,  Ocypete,  and  Celeno,  half- 
birds, half-maidens,  with  heads  and  breasts  of  women,  bodies 
of  birds,  and  claws  of  lions.  They  were  demons  of  destruc- 
tion. 

134  : Note.  Max  Muller.  1823-1900.  A German  scholar 
of  international  reputation,  professor  of  comparative  phi- 
lology at  Oxford.  See  reference  to  him  in  Sesame  and 
Lilies,  § 19. 

135  : 7.  This  is  a month,  etc.  What  month? 

135  : 14.  And  if  you  do  not  . . . I’ll  give  up,  etc.  The 
playfulness  here  attempted  gives  the  paragraph  a weak 
ending. 

135  : 29.  Charybdis.  See  note,  § 39.  On  the  Sicilian 
side  Charybdis  dwelt  under  an  immense  fig  tree,  vswallowing 
down  and  sending  forth  the  waters  of  tlie  sea. 


NOTES 


331 


136  : 9.  Harpy  Celaeno.  See  note,  § 20. 

136  : 10.  Seventh  circle  of  the  “Inferno.’’  Dante’s 
“Inferno^’  had  seven  circles. 

136  : 20.  Arabesque.  Arab-esque,  an  imaginary  and 
fantastic  ornamentation.  Edgar  Allan  Poe  seems  to  have 
liked  this  word. 

136  : 25.  Sirens.  Sea-nymphs,  who,  by  their  music, 
drew  mariners  to  destruction.  How  did  Ulysses  and  his 
companions  get  by,  and  what  became  of  the  Sirens? 

137  : 3.  Tantalus.  A king  of  Lydia,  father  of  Niobe  and 
Pelops.  See  next  note. 

137  : 7.  Forever  kept  hungry  in  sight  of  food.  Was  he 

not  forever  thirsty  in  a pool  (in  hell),  the  waters  of  which 
receded  from  him  when  he  tried  to  drink? 

137  : 17.  Pelops.  Son  of  Tantalus.  The  gods  restored 
him  to  life,  and  he  became  the  husband  of  Hippodamia. 

137  : 20.  Pandareos.  In  Greek  legend  it  was  he  who  stole 
the  golden  dog  made  by  Hephaestus. 

137  : 27.  Cerberus.  Plato’s  three-headed  dog,  crouched 
at  the  gate  of  the  infernal  regions  to  keep  the  inhabitants 
in,  and  the  living  out. 

137  : 30.  “Facilis  descensus.”  An  easy  descent. 

138  : 5.  Sirius  . . . the  dog-star  of  ruin.  According  to 
ancient  belief,  epidemic  diseases  prevailed  under  the  as- 
cendancy of  Sirius. 

‘^Blazed  bright  and  baleful  like  that  autumn-star, 

The  baleful  sign  of  fevers.” 

— Matthew  Arnold,  Sohrah  and  Rustuin,  lines  452,  453. 

138  : 9.  Icarius.  An  Athenian  who  gave  the  peasants 
wine  to  drink.  When  intoxication  bereft  them  of  their 
reason,  their  friends  and  neighbors  slew  Icarius.  He  was 
changed  into  the  star  Bootes. 


332 


NOTES 


138  : 10.  Drunkenness  of  Noah.  Gen.  ix,  21. 

138  : 11.  Actaeon.  Son  of  Aristaeus.  Because  he  in- 
truded himself  at  Diana’s  bath,  she  changed  him  into  a 
deer.  He  was  hunted  and  torn  to  pieces  by  his  own  dogs. 
— Hecuba.  The  wife  of  Priam,  the  mother  of  Paris.  After 
the  destruction  of  Troy,  she  fell  to  the  lot  of  Ulysses  and 
was  afterwards  changed  into  a hound.  Her  supposed  tomb, 
in  the  Thracian  Chersonesus,  is  called  Cynossema  (Dog’s 
Tomb). 

138  : 13.  Cynosarges.  A surname  of  Hercules,  also  the 
name  of  a village  in  Attica  where  the  cynic  philosophers 
established  their  school. 

138  : 17.  Deadly  madness.  Rabies,  hydrophobia. 

138  : 24.  Pandareos’  dog.  See  note,  § 23. 

139  : 5.  Artemis.  The  Greek  name  of  Diana,  goddess 
of  hunting  and  chastity;  daughter  of  Jupiter  and  Latona; 
sister  of  Apollo.  She  has  the  names  Phoebe,  Luna,  Dictynna, 
and  Hecate. 

139  : 6.  Hera.  The  Greek  name  of  Juno,  daughter  of 
Saturn  and  Ops;  wife  of  Jupiter;  mother  of  Mars,  Vulcan, 
Hebe,  and  Lucinia;  queen  of  all  the  gods  and  goddesses; 
mistress  of  heaven  and  earth. 

139  : 7.  Aphrodite.  The  Greek  name  of  Venus,  the  god- 
dess of  beauty  and  the  mother  of  love.  She  sprang  from  the 
foam  of  the  sea. 

139  : 12.  The  Furies.  Tisiphone  (Rage),  Megaera  (Slaugh- 
ter), and  Alecto  (Envy),  daughters  of  Acheron  "'nd  Nox, 
and  punishers  of  evil-doers. 

139  : 16.  London  season.  Evidently  Ruskin  means  just 
the  opposite.  What  figure  of  speech  is  this,  and  what 
purpose  does  it  serve? 

139  : 21.  Polygnotus.  A celebrated  painter  of  Thasos, 
who  lived  about  442  b.c. 


NOTES 


333 


139  : 22,  Delphi.  A town  on  Mount  Parnassus,  where 
the  temple  of  Apollo  was  located.  What  is  meant  by  The 
Oracle  of  Delphi 

139  : 23.  Playing  at  dice.  In  Coleridge’s  Ancient  Mariner, 
who  play  dice,  and  for  what  purpose?  — Penelope.  Daugh- 
ter of  Icarius,  wife  of  Ulysses,  mother  of  Telemachus. 

140  : 3.  Hermes.  The  Greek  name  of  Mercury,  the 
messenger  of  the  gods;  the  inventor  of  the  lyre,  which  he 
gave  to  Apollo;  the  conductor  of  the  dead  into  the  infernal 
regions. 

140  : 4.  Proteus.  A god  of  the  sea  who  had  the  power 
to  convert  himself  into  various  shapes.  He  was  also  a 
prophet. 

140  : Note.  Grotesque.  Grotto-like,  wildly  or  fantasti- 
cally formed.  Poe  liked  this  word.  See  arabesque,  and 
note,  § 22,  p.  161.  What  special  use  did  Poe  make  of  the 
two  words  grotesque  and  arabesque 

141  : 15.  Mother  of  Lacedaemon  [and  Eurotas]  . . . Taygeta. 
Daughter  of  Atlas  and  Pleione.  She  was  one  of  the  Pleiades. 
(See  next  note.)  Lacedaemon  was  king  of  Sparta. 

141  : 16.  Pleiades.  The  seven  daughters  of  Atlas  and 
Pleione.  After  death  they  v/ere  placed  in  the  heavens, 
becoming  a constellation.  — “ Canst  thou  bind,  etc.^'  Job 
xxxviii,  31. 

141  : 20.  Arcadia.  A country  in  the  middle  of  Pelopon- 
nesus, surrounded  on  all  sides  by  land.  It  received  its 
name  from  Areas,  son  of  Jupiter.  The  inhabitants  — 
shepherds,  warriors,  and  musicians  — thought  themselves 
more  ancient  than  the  moon.  Read  the  story  of  Evangeline. 
Is  it  appropriate  that  a town  in  Louisiana  should  have  the 
name  Arcadia  f What  is  the  Arcadia  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney? 

141  : 23.  Voice  of  waters.  Wordsworth  is  not  the  only 
person  that  has  heard  the  waters  laugh  and  sing.  Read 


NOTES 


r>84 


the  opening  lines  of  Thanatopsis.  See  Ps.  xlii,  7 : ‘‘Deep 
calleth  unto  deep/^ 

141  : Note.  Hera.  See  note,  § 24. 

142  : 8.  Shepherd  of  the  clouds.  See  § 28,  ‘^The  shep- 
herd of  the  flocks  of  the  sky,”  and  the  note  on  it. 

142  : 9.  Argus.  A god  with  a hundred  eyes  which  took 
it  turn-about  watching  and  sleeping.  Juno  set  him  to 
watch  To;  he  was  slain  by  Mercury,  and  changed,  by  Juno, 
into  a peacock. 

142  : 13.  After  reading  this  paragraph,  and  the  footnote, 
see  the  note  on  philologists,  § 28. 

142  : 28.  Pecuniarily.  From  pecus,  cattle.  What  is  the 
origin  of  peculiar  f 

143  : 4.  Priam.  King  of  Troy,  father  of  Paris,  whose 
carrying  Helen  to  Troy,  in  the  absence  of  Menelaus, 
of  Sparta,  caused  the  war  between  the  Greeks  and  the 
Trojans. 

143  : 6.  Diomed.  A legendary  Thracian  king,  son  of 
Ares. 

143  : 12.  Autolycus.  Son  of  Hermes  (Mercury)  and 
Chione.  The  daughter  of  Autolycus,  Anticlea,  was  the 
mother  of  Ulysses. 

143  : 13.  Myrtilus.  The  charioteer  of  ffinomaus. 

143  : 16.  The  shepherd  of  the  flocks  of  the  sky. 

In  Autumn 

**  The  shepherd  winds  are  driving 
Along  the  ways  on  high 
A merry  flock  of  cloudland  sheep 
To  meadows  in  the  sky.” 

— Robert  Loveman,  Poems,  Pliiladelphia,  1897,  p.  40. 

143  : 23.  Jupiter.  Son  of  Saturn  and  ( ybelc  (Ops). 
Jupiter,  with  the  aid  of  Hercules,  defeated  the  giants  of 


NOTES 


earth  when  they  made  war  against  heaven.  (See  note,  § 77 , 
p.  81.)  He  was  woi-shipf)ed  by  many  of  the  heathen  nations. 

143  : 26.  Euripides.  A tragic  poet,  pupil  of  Prodicus, 
Socrates,  and  Anaxagoras.  — Hippomedon.  Son  of  Nisi- 
machus  and  Mythidice.  He  was  one  of  the  seven  chiefs  who 
went  against  Thebes.  He  was  killed  by  Ismarus. 

144  : 1.  “Primo  mobile.’^  Italian  for  first  movements j 
oi-  first  moveables. 

144  : 5.  Foray.  Another  form  of  forage,  meaning  a raid, 
an  irregular  or  sudden  incursion  for  battle  or  for  spoils. 

144  : 17.  Athamas.  A king  of  Thebes,  son  of  ^Eolus. 
Read  the  story  of  his  temporary  insanity  as  a result  of 
anger. 

144  ; 18.  Phrixus.  Phryxus  carried  the  Golden  Fleece, 
a ram's  hide,  to  Calchis,  where  he  was  entertained  by  King 
^etes.  The  Argonauts,  Jason,  and  fifty  other  heroes, 
carried  back  the  Golden  Fleece. 

144  : 19.  Helle.  Daughter  of  Athamas  and  Nephele. 
That  is  a pretty  story  about  the  sea  receiving  from  Helle 
the  name  Hellespont. 

144  : 21.  Salmoneus.  King  of  Elis.  He  tried  to  imitate 
Jupiter's  thunders,  and  was  immediately  sent  to  the  in- 
fernal regions.  — Glaucus.  A son  of  Sisyphus,  king  of 
Corinth.  He  was  the  owner  of  mares  that  w^ere  sv/.ft  in 
the  races.  For  a reason,  Venus  inspired  the  mares  with  such 
fury  that  they  tore  the  body  of  Glaucus  to  pieces  as  he  was 
returning  from  the  games. 

144  : 24.  Bellerophon  . . . Chimaera.  Bellerophon,  son 
of  Glaucus  and  Eurymede,  was  sent  by  lobates,  king 
of  Lycia,  to  conquer  the  monster  Chimaera.  With  the 
assistance  of  Minerva,  and  by  the  aid  of  Pegasus  — the 
wdnged  horse  — he  was  successful.  See  Milton's  Paradise 
Lost,  vii,  1 


336 


NOTES 


144  : 31.  Sisyphus.  Son  of  iEolus  and  Enaretta.  He 
meddled  in  the  love  affair  of  Jupiter  and  iEgina  and  for 
this  was  condemned  to  eternal  punishment,  which  is,  to 
roll  a stone  to  the  summit  of  a hill  in  the  infernal  regions. 
The  stone  always  rolls  back  to  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

145  : 7.  Isthmian  games.  The  public  and  solemn  games 
of  the  Greeks  were  : the  Olympian,  the  Pythian,  the 
Nemean,  and  the  Isthmian.  These  games,  in  which  there 
were  physical,  mental,  and  musical  contests,  derived  their 
names  from  persons  or  places.  The  Isthmian  was  named 
for  the  Corinthian  Isthmus,  which  joins  the  Peloponnesus 
with  the  continent. 

145  : 8.  KcpSuTTos  dvSpcov.  The  greediest,  shrewdest,  or 
craftiest  of  men.  Compare  Iliad,  vi,  153. 

145  : 19.  Ixion.  King  of  Thessaly,  of  uncertain  parentage. 
At  the  table  of  the  gods  in  heaven  where  Jupiter  had  carried 
him,  he  displeased  his  benefactor,  was  banished  to  hell  and 
tied,  by  Mercury,  to  a whirling  wheel,  which,  it  was  supposed, 
would  never  cease  to  turn. 

145  : 25.  Aristophanes.  Son  of  Philip  of  Rhodes,  and 
a comic  poet  of  Athens.  He  lived  434  b.c. 

145  : 29.  Sivos.  Literally,  a whirlwind. 

146  : 3.  Semele,  the  mother  of  Bacchus.  The  daughter  of 
Cadmus.  After  death  she  was  deified,  and  became  Thyone. 

146  : 8.  Taw€0€ipa.  raw,  altogether,  exceedingly;  edcLpa, 
the  hair  of  the  head. 

146  : 9.  Danaides. . The  fifty  daughters  of  Danaus, 
king  of  Argos.  They  married  their  fifty  cousins,  sons  of 
Egyptus.  Forty-nine  of  them,  in  obedience  to  their  father^s 
wish,  slew  their  husbands  the  first  night  of  their  nuptials. 

146  : 10.  Danae.  See  note,  § 19.  — Perseus.  Son  of 
Jupiter  and  Danae.  Read  the  story  of  Perseus’s  successful 
combat  with  the  Gorgon  Medusa. 


NOTES 


337 


146:11.  Gorgons.  See  note,  § 69.  — Graiae.  Graiae, 
or  Grsese,  the  Gray-women  : Dino,  Pephredo,  and  Enyo. 

146:14.  Medusa.  One  of  the  three  Gorgons.  See  note,  §69. 

146  : 27.  Reread  paragraph  14. 

148  : 3.  Shakespeare.  William  Shakespeare  (1564-1616), 
the  greatest  dramatist  in  the  history  of  English  literature 

148  : 4.  Mortimer.  Edmund  Mortimer,  Earl  of  March. 

[In]  changing  hardiment  . . . Three  times  they  breathed, 
etc.^^  1 Henry  IV.,  I,  hi,  101-103. 

148  : 8.  Hotspur.  Henry  Percy,  surnamed  Hotspur,  son 
of  Henry  Percy,  Earl  of  Northumberland.  The  quotation 
is  from  1 Henry  IV.,  V,  ii,  48,  49. 

148  : 11.  Hamlet.  Prince  of  Denmark.  The  Queen  says 
of  Hamlet:  ‘'He’s  fat  and  scant  of  breath.”  Hamlet, 
V,  ii,  302. 

148  : 13.  Orlando.  One  of  the  three  sons  of  Sir  Rowland 
de  Boys.  The  quotation  is  from  As  You  Like  It,  I,  ii,  233. 

148  : 20.  Ares.  Mars. 

148  : 22.  Camilla.  Queen  of  the  Volsci,  daughter  of 
Metabus  and  Casmilla.  She  was  so  fleet,  or  swift,  that  she 
could  run  (or  fly)  over  a field  of  corn  without  bending  the 
blades,  and  over  the  sea  without  wetting  her  feet. 

149  : 4.  Fresh  air,  etc.  Is  this  “popular”  touch  out  of 
place? 

149  : 6.  Achilles.  Son  of  Peleus  and  Thetis,  the  greatest 
of  the  Greek  heroes  in  the  Trojan  War. 

149  : 10.  Ambrosia.  Ambrosia,  from  the  Greek,  means 
immortal,  — food  for  the  immortals.  The  fabled  food  of 
the  gods,  which  was  supposed  to  confer  immortality  on 
those  who  partook  of  it. 

149  : 12.  Harpy  falcon.  Falcon,  a bird  trained  to  catch 
other  birds,  or  game.  Harpy,  in  Grecian  mythology,  a 
ravenous,  filthy,  woman -faced  vulture. 

z 


338 


NOTES 


149  : 19.  As  a falcon  . . . straight  at  him.  Compare 
Arnold  s Sohrab  and  Rustum,  lines  398-402  ; — 

“ Rustum  . . . hurl’d 

His  spear;  down  from  the  shoulder,  down  it  came, 

As  on  some  partridge  in  the  corn  a hawk, 

That  long  has  tower’d  in  the  airy  clouds 
Drops  like  a plummet.” 

149  : 29.  Menelaus.  King  of  Sparta,  husband  of  Helen. 
Read  the  note  on  Priam,  § 27. 

149  : 30.  Hector.  Son  of  Priam  and  Hecuba,  chief  of 
the  Trojan  forces  when  the  Greeks  besieged  Troy.  He  slew 
many  of  the  bravest  Greek  chiefs,  but  fled  at  the  presence 
of  Achilles,  who  pursued  and  killed  him. 

151  : 23.  Pope.  Alexander  Pope  (1688-1744),  a noted 
English  writer  in  his  day.  Many  of  his  smooth  classical 
couplets  are  very  quotable.  He  came  near  to  being  dis- 
honest in  the  attempt  to  further  his  inordinate  literary 
ambition. 

152  : 10.  Atreides.  Atreides  (Atrides),  son  of  Atreus 
Agamemnon.  The  ending  -ides  means  son  c.  . 

152  : 19.  Patroclus.  The  intimate  friend  and  constant 
companion  of  Achilles  in  the  Trojan  War.  He  was  slain 
by  Hector,  who,  in  turn,  was  killed  by  Achilles. 

152:23.  Fresh  turned.  Would  not  “freshly  turned,” 
or  “fresh-turned”  be  better. 

152  : 29.  Hephaestus.  Vulcan. 

152  : 31.  Erichthonius.  The  fourth  king  of  Athens. 
He  had  the  tails  of  serpents  instead  of  legs.  The  invention 
of  chariots  is  attributed  to  him.  He  reigned  fifty  years, 
and  died  1437  b.c. 

152  : 33.  Attica.  A triangular  division  of  Greece,  bounded 
on  two  sides  by  1!h‘  .Egean  Sea,  on  the  other  by  tlie  moun- 


NOTES 


339 


tains  Cithaeron  and  ParnCvS.  Athens  was  its  principal 
city. 

153  : 2.  Aglauros.  When  Erich thoni us  was  n l)abe, 
Minerva  placed  him  in  a basket  and  gave  strict  orders  that 
no  one  should  open  it.  This  was  because^  of  the  cliild’s 
terrible  deformity.  (See  note  above.)  Aglauros  had  the 
curiosity  to  open  the  basket,  and  Minerva  punished  her  by 
making  her  jealous  of  her  sister  Herse. 

153  : 3.  Envy  of  Cain.  See  Gen.  iv,  2-4. 

153  : 5.  Herse.  See  note  above  on  Aglauros. 

153  : 6.  Mercury.  Hermes. 

153  : 7.  Pandrosos.  I)aught(T  of  Cecrops,  sister  of 
Aglauros  and  Herse.  (See  notes  above.)  Because  she  had 
not  the  curiosity  to  open  the  basket  containing  Erichthonius, 
a temple  was  erected  in  her  honor. 

153  : 10.  Blessing  of  Esau.  Gen.  xxvii,  28. 

153  : 14.  ‘‘lo  sono  Aglauro,  chi  divenne  sasso.^’  See 
Dante,  Purgatorio,  xiv,  142. 

153  : 32.  Primrose.  An  early  (Latin  'primus,  first) 
flowering  plant. 

154  : 1.  Asphodel.  The  asphodel  of  the  early  English 
and  French  poets  was  the  daffodil.  The  pale  asphodel  is 
said  to  be  the  only  flower  that  blooms  in  hell.  In  Foe's 
Eleonora,  the  asphodels  are  "'ruby-red." 

154  : 3.  Crocus  flame.  The  saffron  bloom  of  the  crocus. 

154  : 4.  Ida.  A mountain  range  in  Asia  Minor. 

154  ; 5.  Elysian  fields.  Elysium,  a place  in  the  infernal 
regions  where  the  souls  of  the  righteous  were  supposed  to 
repose  after  death. 

154  : 8.  Maia.  Daughter  of  Atlas  and  Pleione.  The 
most  beautiful  of  the  Pleiades. 

154  : 13.  Vergil.  Publius  Maro  Virgilius  (70-19  b.c.) 
the  greatest  of  the  Latin  poets. 


340 


NOTES 


154  : 15.  Chaucer.  Geoffrey  Chaucer  {cir.  1340-1400) 
England's  first  great  poet  to  break  away  from  the  native 
literary  traditions  of  his  people. 

154  : 17.  Pastorals  and  Georgies.  Works  of  Vergil. 

154  : 32.  “There  shall  come  forth  a rod,  etc.^^  Is.  xi,  1. 

155  : 1.  Almond  rod  of  Aaron.  See  Ex.  vii,  10. 

155  : 7.  Course  of  Olympia.  The  place  of  the  Olympic 
games,  dedicated  to  Jupiter  Olympius.  See  note  on 
Isthmian  games,  § 29. 

155  : 9.  Panathenaic.  All  the  Athenian  games.  Similai 
to  our  modern  “Field  Day.^^ 

155  : 14.  Moriai.  The  Mora  is  a leguminous  tree. 

155  : 15.  Erecthemn.  Of,  or  pertaining  to  Arectheus, 
a mythic  king  of  Athens. 

155  : 17.  “Children  like  olive  plants,  etc.’'  See  Ps, 
cxxviii,  3. 

155  : 19.  Rod  ...  of  the  stem  of  Jesse.  Is.  xi,  1: 
‘‘And  there  shall  come  forth  a rod  out  of  the  stem  [or 
stump]  of  Jesse.^’ 

155  : 21.  Antioch.  A city  in  Asia  Minor,  founded  by 
Seleucus,  and  named  by  him  in  honor  of  his  father,  Antiochus. 

155  : 22.  Extreme  unction.  The  sacrament  of  anoint- 
ing in  the  ^st  hours. 

155  : 29.  Agonia.  Italian  for  horror,  or  agony.  Latin 
Agonia  is  another  name  for  Agonalia,  a Roman  festival,  — ■ 
from  agon,  a struggle,  contest,  or  combat.  What  is  the 
origin  of  agonize? 

155  : 31.  Palestine.  Called  also  Canaan,  and  The  Holy 
Land.  The  name  in  Greek  (JlaXauTTlvy))  means  the  country 
of  the  Philistines.  It  is  the  land  of  the  Hebrews;  Jeru- 
salem is  the  chief  city. 

156  ; i.  British  Museum.  The  building,  in  London,  in 
which  England’s  greatest  art  collection  is  kept.  It  contains, 


J^OTES 


341 


also,  a vast  library  of  between  two  and  three  millions  of 
books.  The  circular  reading  room  is  one  hundred  and  forty 
feet  in  diameter,  and  over  a hundred  feet  high.  — Dolphin. 
A fish  from  five  to  eight  feet  long;  a constellation  between 
Aquila  and  Pegasus.  Read  the  story  of  Arion  and  the 
dolphin. 

156  : 13.  Cretan  colonists.  People  of  Crete. 

156  : 14.  Pytho.  The  ancient  name  of  Delphi. 

156  : 17.  Hydria.  An  urn. 

156  : 19.  Tarentum  . . . Taras.  Tarenium,  also  called 
Taras,  an  Italian  city  on  the  western  coast  of  Calabria. 
Taras,  p,  son  of  Neptune,  supposed  to  have  built  Taren- 
tum. 

156  : 24.  Magna  Grsecia.  A part  of  Italy,  where  the 
Greeks  planted  colonies.  — Arion.  A noted  lyric  poet  on  the 
island  of  Lesbos.  It  w^as  he  whose  harp  so  charmed  the 
dolphins.  See  the  note  on  dolphin,  § 39. 

156  ; 26.  ^neas.  Son  of  Anchises  and  Venus;  husband 
of  Creusa;  father  of  Ascanius.  After  the  destruction  of 
Troy  he  built  a fleet  of  twenty  ships  and  escaped  to  the 
coasts  of  Africa.  How  did  he  save  his  father  when  Troy 
was  in  flames? 

156  : 29.  Merlin  prophecy,  etc.  About  1200  a.d.  Helie 
de  Barron  wrote  the  French  prose  romance  of  Merlin,  which 
contained,  in  the  apoendix.  Merlin’s  Prophecies.  See 
1 Henry  IV,  III,  i,  149. 

157  : 8.  Laocoon.  In  die  Trojan  War,  Laocoon,  a priest  of 
Apollo,  opposed  the  admission  of  the  wooden  horse  into  the 
city.  For  this,  two  great  serpents  crushed  him  and  his  sons. 
See  Byron’s  Childe  Harold,  Canto  IV,  stanza  clx. 

157  : 12.  Scyila.  Between  Italy  and  Sicily  are  two  rocks 
called  Scylla  and  Charybdis.  On  the  Italian  side,  in  a cave, 
dwelt  Scylla,  a tv/elve-footed,  six -headed  monster. 


NOTES 


157  : 16.  Peplus.  An  upper  garment  worn  b}"  Grecian 
and  R(niian  women. 

157  : 23.  Turner.  See  note,  $ 56. 

157  : 24.  Ulysses  and  Polyphemus.  Ulysses,  a king  of 
Ithaca,  whose  adventures  in  the  Trojan  War  furnished 
Homer  the  subject  for  his  Odyssey:  the  Greek  name  of 
Ulys.ses  is  Odysseus.  See  note,  $ 1 6.  Polyphemus  a Cyclops, 
s(jn  of  Neptune  (Poseidon)  and  Thoosa.  Ulysses  and  som(‘ 
of  his  companions  {)ut  out  the  one  eye  of  Poly{)hemus  witli 
a fire-brand. 

158:1.  Cloud-phantasm.  A cloud-fancy. 

158  : 14.  The  race  is  not  to  the  swift.  Eccl.  ix,  „ . “ The 
race  is  not  to  the  swift,  nor  the  battle  to  the  strong.” 

158  : 24.  Parable  of  the  ten  virgins.  See  Matt,  xxv,  1. 
Sidney  Lanier  says  there  were  ten  virgins,  and  five  of  them 
were  foolish;  there  were  ten  lilies,  and  all  of  them  were 
wise. 

158  : 26.  Pentecost.  See  Acts  ii,  2. 

158  : 31.  The  zeal  of  thine  house,  etc.  Ps.  cxix,  139. 

159  : 1.  Ares.  Mars. 

159  : 17.  Melody.  An  agreeable  succession  of  sounds 
How  does  melody  differ  from  harmony? 

159  : 21.  Measured  and  designed  . . . impulsive  and 
passionate.  What  is  said  here  of  music  may  also  be  appli(‘d 
to  poetry.  An  example  of  a measured  and  designed  poem 
is  Poe's  The  Bells,  the  four  stanzas  of  which  may  be 
tabulated  as  to  the  kinds  of  bells,  the  metals,  what  they  tell, 
how  they  tell  it,  etc.  An  exam])le  of  an  impulsive  and  [>as- 
sionate  poem  is  Poe’s  Annabel  Lee,  or  Pinkney’s  A Health. 

159  : 22.  Athena  . . . aids  the  shout  of  Achilles.  Read 
Browning’s  A Tale  (Epilogue  to  The  Two  Poets  of  Croisic) 
for  the  story  of  the  cricket  that  “ Lighted  on  the  crippl(‘d 
lyre,”  and  aided  the  player  in  winning  the  prize. 


NOTES 


M3 


159  : 24.  Demeter.  See  note  on  Ceres,  § 70. 

160  : 1.  Apolline  lyre  . . . Doric  fiute.  The  lyre  was 
the  most  famous  of  ancient  stringed  instruments.  At  first 
there  were  three  strings,  afterwards  eight,  and,  finally, 
through  a long  process  of  development,  we  have  the  piano. 
The  flute,  or  pipe,  was  the  wind  instrument.  They  were 
made  of  reeds,  and  of  the  bones  of  stags,  fawns,  asses,  and 
elephants.  Flute-music  was  thought  to  exert  a strong  in- 
fluence on  the  minds  and  bodies  of  men  — to  the  extent  of 
curing  certain  diseases. 

160  : 2.  Pipe  of  Pan.  Pan,  a man  with  horns,  long  ears, 
and  the  lower  half  of  his  body  like  a goat.  The  Pan-pipes 
(Syrinx)  were  reeds  fashioned  by  himself.  What  is  the  ori- 
gin of  the  word  panic  f 

160  : 3.  Double  pipe  of  Marsyas.  Marsyas,  the  supposed 
inventor  of  the  flute,  challenged  Apollo  to  a musical  contest. 
Apollo  defeated  him  and  then  beat  him  to  death. 

160  : 6.  Gorgonian  serpents.  Instead  of  hair,  the  heads 
of  the  Gorgons  were  covered  with  vipers. 

161  : 11.  Music  ...  in  her  health,  the  teacher  of  perfect 
order.  Read  Browning^s  Saul. 

IGl  : 15.  Gloria  in  Excelsis.  Glory  in  the  highest.  — 
The  Marseillaise.  La  Marseillaise,  a French  patriotic  song, 
composed  at  Strasburg,  on  the  night  of  April  21,  1792,  by 
t hi’ide  Joseph  Rouget  de  Lisle,  a captain  of  engineers. 
Wiien,  wncre,  and  by  whom  was  ‘^The  Star  Spangled  Ban- 
ner’’ Avritten? 

161  ; 31.  [1869.]  The  year  is  not  given  in  the  original. 

163  : 14.  Spirit  . . . quench  . . . grieve.  This  refers 
quench  to  1 Thes.  v,  19;  grieve  to  Eph.  iv,  30. 

163  : 30.  Pisistratus.  An  Athenian  who  ordered  a com- 
mission of  scholars,  about  537  b.c.,  to  collect  and  revise 
the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey. 


344 


NOTES 


164  : 1.  A beautiful  woman,  armed  like  Athena.  This 

woman  was  Phya. 

164  : 5.  Antiparos.  An  island  in  the  ^Egean  Sea,  op- 
posite Paros. 

164  : 19.  St.  Louis.  Brother  of  Charles  I.,  king  of 
Naples. 

164  : 20.  The  Cid  {cir.  1010-1099),  called  also  El  Cam- 
peador.  The  Cid,  master.  Campeador,  champion,  or  chal- 
lenger. He  is  the  principal  national  hero  of  Spain,  and  is 
famed  for  his  exploits  with  the  Moors.  — Chevalier  Bayard. 
A French  national  hero  (1475-1521),  called  ‘Hhe  knight 
without  fear,  and  without  reproach. 

165  : 2.  Horace.  Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus  (65-8  b.c.), 
a poet  whose  talents  were  recognized  by  Virgil.  The  special 
qualities  of  his  Satires  and  Epistles  are  humor  and  wit. 

165  ; 3.  Wordsworth.  William  Wordsworth  (1770-1850), 
one  of  England’s  greatest  poets.  His  works  are  inspired 
by  love  of  Nature  and  of  man.  His  poetry  is  simple  and 
true,  in  comparison  with  the  shams  and  artificialities  of 
Pope. 

165  : 6.  Mechanical  drill  in  verse-writing.  Writing  verse 
by  pattern,  or  by  the  foot,  without  proper  reference  to  poetic 
thought. 

165  : 10.  Hexameter.  A line  of  verse  having  six  metrical 
feet. 

165  : 19.  Thyme.  A sweet-smelling  flower.  — Matin. 
Morning. 

165  : 21.  Faun.  A god,  of  fields  and  shepherds,  some- 
thing like  the  Satyr. 

165  : 22.  Rome.  The  capital  of  Italy,  and  the  centre  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 

166  : 13.  Sell  that  thou  hast,  etc.  See  Matt,  xix,  21; 
Mark  x,  21;  Luke  xii,  33;  xviii,  22. 


NOTES 


345 


II.  ATHENA  KERAMITIS 
{Athena  in  the  Earth) 

167:13.  The  Greek  word  for  breathing. Jlvica  or 
^v(rdu), 

168:  21.  St.  Paul.  An  early  apostle  the  Christian 
Church.  See  Acts  xiii,  9. 

169  : 4.  Nemean  lion.  The  first  of  the  Twelve  Labors 
of  Hercules  was  the  combat  with  the  lion  that  infested  the 
valley  of  Nemea. 

169  : 6.  Python.  A serpent  which  sprang  from  stagnant 
waters  and  mud^  after  the  deluge  of  Deucalion. 

170  : 28.  “Born  of  the  spirit.’’  See  John  hi,  6. 

171: 5..  The  strong  word  “ascertained.”  Make  a list 
of  the  synonyms  of  ascertained,  arranging  them . in  the 
order  of  their  strength. 

171  : Note.  Manuel  d^  Iconographie  Chretienne.  Hand- 
book of  Christian  Iconography. — Iconography,  the  art  of 
representation  by  pictures  or  images.  Christian  Iconog- 
raphy, the  study  of  the  representations  in  art  of  the  Deity, 
the  persons  of  the  Trinity,  angels,  saints,  etc.  — Lorsque 
vous  aurez  fait  le  proplasme,  etc.  When  you  will  have  made 
protoplasm,  and  outlined  a face,  you  will  have  made  flesh 
with  glycasm  for  which  we  have  given  the  receipt.  In  old 
men  you  will  indicate  the  wrinkles  and,  in  young  people, 
the  corners  of  the  eyes.  Thus  it  is,  according  to  Panselinos, 
that  flesh  is  made. 

172  : 19.  In  which  all  things  live,  move,  and  have  their 
being.  Acts  xvii,  28. 

173  : 4.  Ethics  of  the  Dust.  Published,  1866. 

174  : Note.  Mr.  Darwin.  Charles  Darwin  (1809-1882), 
an  illustrious  English  biologist,  grandson  of  Erasmus  Dar» 


346 


NOTES 


win,  the  poet.  See  Professor  WinclielPs  article,  ‘^Darwin- 
ism/’ in  the  Encyclopcedia  Americana.  The  Cambridge 
(England)  Daily  News,  Thursday,  June  24,  1909,  contains 
an  account  of  the  Darwin  Centenary  Banquet,  at  which  Mr. 
William  Erasmus  Darwin  spoke  of  his  father  “as  a man 
and  as  he  knew  him  from  a child.” 

175  : 9.  Calcareous  slime.  Slime  consisting  of,  or  con- 
taining, calcium  carbonate  or  carbonate  of  lime. 

177  : 30.  Fire  to  speak.  See  Ex.  iii,  2;  xiii,  21;  xix,  18; 
Lev.  ix,  24;  x,  2;  Num.  xi,  1,  3;  xvi,  35;  Deut.  iv,  12,  15, 
33,  36;  V,  24,  26;  1 Kings  xviii,  24;  1 Chr.  xxi,  26;  Is, 
Ixvi,  16,  etc.  — Dove,  to  bless.  See  Matt,  iiij  16;  Mark  i, 
10;  Luke  iii,  22;  John  i,  32. 

178  : 12.  Hieroglyph.  A character  in  picture  writing. 
The  word  here  means  a character  or  figure  with  a hidden 
meaning.  . 

179  : 1.  Than  ever  “vanti  Libia  con  sua  rena.”  Than 
ever  boasted  Libya  with  her  sand. 

180  : Note.  Richard  Owen.  Sir  Richard  Owen  (1804- 
1892),  an  English  anatomist  and  paleontologist.  — Hippo- 
campus. A sea-horse. 

180  : 16.  Gigantomachia.  This  is  the  Latin  form.  Eng- 
lish, Gigantomachy , a war  of  giants,  especially  the  mythic 
war  of  the  giants  against  heaven.  See  the  notes  on  Ossa 
and  Pelion,  § 77.  In  some  of  the  texts  this  word  is  hyphen- 
ated : Giganto-machia. 

180  : 18.  “That  which  thou  sowest,  etc.”  1 Cor.  xv,  36. 

180  : 24.  jEsculapius.  Son  of  Apollo,  husband  of  Epi- 
one,  father  of  Machaon  and  Padalirus,  who  were  skilled  in 
medicine.  One  of  the  four  daughters,  Hygeia,  is  the  god- 
dess of  health. 

181  : 7.  Nascent  eyes.  Eyes  just  beginning  to  see  and 
discriminate. 


NOTES 


347 


181  : 33.  Frenzied  grotesque.  This  should  be  ‘'frenzied 
grotes(|ueness/'  or  “the  frenzied  grotesque.’^  Ruskin, 
however,  uses  grotesque  elsewhere  as  here. 

182  : 1.  Psalter  of  St.  Louis.  See  note,  § 46. 

182  : 16.  Lacertine.  Also  lacertain,  like  a lizard. 

183  : 5.  Dove  with  the  olive  branch.  See  Gen.  vii,  11. 

183  : 15.  Peacock  pf  Hera.  Hera  (Juno)  rode  in  a 

chariot  drawn  by  peacocks. 

183  : 16.  Dove  of  Aphrodite.  Aphrodite  (Venus)  was 
specially  fond  of  the  dove,  the  sparrow,  the  swan,  and  the 
dolphin. 

183  : 20.  Cherubim.  The  Hebrew  plural  of  cherub . 

183  : 31.  Mr.  Fergusson.  James  Fergusson  (1808-1886), 
a Scottish  writer  on  architecture.  His  Fire  and  Serpent 
Worship  was  published  1868. 

183:32.  Draconian.  From  Draco,  a dragon;  also  the 
name  of  a famous  lawgiver  of  Athens,  621  b.c. 

183  : 33.  Judea.  In  Bethlehem  of  Judea  Jesus  was  born. 
See  Matt,  ii,  1. 

184:31.  “Leguminous^^  plants.  Such  as  beans,  peas, 
clover,  etc.  Legumen  is  an  albuminous  substance  char- 
acteristic of  grain -bearing  plants. 

184:33.  “Laetum  siliqua  quassante  legumen.”  Pod 
shaking  its  joyful  (or  joy-giving)  legumen. 

185  : 9.  Acacia,  laburnum,  Judas-tree  . . . vetch.  Con- 
sult dictionary  or  botany.  Why  is  the  Judas-tree  so  called? 

185  : 11.  Trefoil  tracery.  Three-leaf  tracery. 

186  : 4.  Henbane  . . . mandrake  . . . tobacco  . . • 
cyclamen  . . . primulas  . . . stamens  . . . lobes  . . . corolla, 
are  all  botanical  terms.  Consult  botany  or  dictionary. 

186  : 6.  Umbelled  and  cruciferous  plants.  Latin  umhella, 
a shade.  Such  plants  as  milkweed  and  carrot.  Crucifer- 
ous, having  four  petals  arranged  lik(‘  tlu'  arms  of  a cross. 
Such  plants  as  mustard  and  turnip. 


348 


NOTES 


186  : 13.  Hemlock  drink.  Socrates,  by  the  perjury  of 
witnesses,  was  tried  for  corrupting  the  Athenian  youth, 
making  innovations  in  the  religion  of  the  Greeks,  and  ridi- 
culing their  gods.  He  was  condemned  to  drink  hemlock. 
See  Keats^s  Ode  to  a Nightingale,  lines  1 and  2. 

186  : 14.  Chervil.  A plant  with  pinnately  divided, 

aromatic  leaves.  ^ 

187  : 1.  Catkined  trees.  Such  as  the  willow,  poplar,  and 
chestnut.  The  flowers  are  along  the  sides  of  a slender  axis. 
Called  catkined,  because  of  the  resemblance  to  a cat^s  tail. 

187  : 5.  Coveting  of  Eve.  See  Gen.  iii,  6. 

187  : 9. 

Rosa  sempiterna, 

Che  si  dilata,  rigrada,  e ridole 
Odor  di  lode  al  Sol.’’ 

The  rose  eternal, 

Which  spreads  herself,  divides,  and  scents 
Odor  of  praise  to  the  Sun. 

188  : 1.  Spinous  process.  Having  the  form  of  a spine  or 
thorn. 

188  : 2.  Awn  or  beard.  What  is  the  origin  of  the  word 
awning  f 

189  : 2.  Lilies,  asphodels,  amaryllids,  irids,  rushes.  See 
footnote  to  the  next  paragraph. 

189  : 15.  Crocus  . . . hyacinth  . . . star  of  Bethlehem  . . . 
gladiolus  . . . water  lilies  (Nereid  sisters).  Consult  diction- 
ary or  botany.  Why  is  the  “Star  of  Bethlehem”  so  called? 

189  : 19.  Ganges,  Nile,  Arno,  and  Avon.  Ganges,  a large 
river  of  India,  emptying  into  the  Indian  Ocean.  Nile,  the 
longest  river  in  Africa,  and  one  of  the  longest  in  the  world. 
Arno,  a river  in  Tuscany,  Italy.  Avon,  an  English  river  on 
which  Shakespeare’s  Stratford  is  located. 


NOTES 


349 


189  : 22.  The  Annunciation.  The  festival  (March  25)  in 
memory  of  Gabriel’s  announcement  of  the  incarnation  to 
the  Virgin  Mary. 

189  : 23.  Fleur-de-lys.  French  for  flower  of  the  lily. 

189  : 24.  Christ’s  lily  of  the  field.  See  Matt,  vi,  28; 
Luke  xii,  27.  ^ 

190  : 1.  Perdita’s  ^^The  crown  imperial,  lilies  of  all  kinds.’’ 

The  Winter^ s Tale,  IV,  iii,  126. 

190:7.  ^^Giglio.”  Italian  for  lily. 

190  : 22.  Loved  better  than  the  gray  nettles,  etc.  Ruskin 
seems  here  to  be  contrasting  country  (‘Gowly”)  life  with 
suburban  or  city  life.  Which  does  he  prefer? 

191  : 4.  Hyacinth  and  convallaria.  Consult  dictionar}^  or 
botany.  Explain  ‘^hyacinth  hair,”  in  Poe’s  poem  To  Helen. 

191  : 25.  Narcissus.  A handsome  youth  who  became 
enamored  of  his  own  image  in  a fountain.  Because  he 
could  not  reach  the  object  of  his  affection,  he  killed  himself, 
and  his  blood  was  changed  into  the  flower  w^hich  bears  his 
name. 

192  : 18.  Quatrefoil,  cinquefoil,  sixfoil.  Four-,  five-,  and 
six -leaved. 

193  : 6.  Foxglove,  snapdragon,  and  calceolaria.  Consult 
dictionary  or  botany. 

193  : i2.  With  paleness  round.  For  poetry  this  would 
do;  for  prose  ^Svith  paleness  around”  is  better. 

193  : 17.  Kalmia  . . . stamens  . . . borage.  Botanical 

terms. 

194  : C.  AEsculapian.  Medicinal  plants,  named  for  iEscu- 
lapius,  the  god  of  medicine. 

194:10.  ‘^Erba  della  Madonna.”  The  flower  of  the  Virgin 
Mary.  Literally,  the  grass  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 

194  : 15.  ^^Labiatae.”  From  the  Latin  labium,  lip. 

194  : 16.  Strength  for  healing.  Compare  Rev.  xxii,  2. 


350 


NOTES 


194  ; 28.  Ordinary  botanist.  Does  Ruskin^s  answer,  in 
§ 89,  to  the  questions  proposed  in  this  paragraph  (§  88), 
indicate  that  he  regards  himself  as  an  extraordinary  botanist? 

196:4.  ‘'Glaukopis.^^  Literally  blue-eyed.  Ruskin  says 
gray-eyed/^  § 93,  p.  232. 

196  : 17.  Aristotle.  A famous  philosopher  and  pupil  of 
Plato  who  called  him  the  philosopher  of  truth.  He  died 
322  B.c. 

196  : 26.  ‘^Purpureos  inter  soles,  et  Candida  lunae  sidera.^’ 
Among  the  purple  suns,  and  the  white  sides  of  the  moon. 

196  : 27.  Pro  purpureo  pcenam  solvens  scelerata  capillo.^' 
The  wicked  woman  paying  the  penalty  for  golden  hair. 

196  : 33.  Murex-dye.  Dye  made  from  the  shell  of  the 
murex. 

197  : 15.  Davy’s  safety-lamp.  Sir  Humphry  Davy 
(1778-1829),  a celebrated  English  chemist.  He  invented 
the  safety-lamp  in  1815.  A safety-lamp  does  not  ignite 
the  gas  in  a coal  mine. 

197  : 16.  Subterranean  ^^damp.”  Called  also  ^'fire- 
damp.” Consists  chiefly  of  light  carbureted  hydrogen. 

197  : 27.  "Chiaroscuro.”  The  arrangement  of  light  and 
dark  parts  in  a work  of  art. 

198  : 4.  "If  thine  eye  be  single,  etc.”  See  Matt,  vi,  22; 
Luke  xi,  34. 

198  : 16.  Attic  coins.  Coins  of  Attica. 

198  : 25.  Lapislazuli.  A rich  blue  aluminous  mineral.  — 
Smalt.  A deep  blue  pigment. 

198  : Note.  Payne  Knight.  Richard  Payne  Knight 
(1750-1824),  an  English  numismatist  and  archaeologist. 
See  Cayley’s  Classic  Myths,  Boston,  1900,  p.  iG,  note. 

200  : 3.  Troy.  The  capital  of  Troas  in  Asia  Minor. 
Here  the  siege  was  conducted  by  the  Creeks  under  Agamem- 
non. - Ajax.  A brave  Ci(>(‘k  in  tin*  Trojan  War. 


NOTES 


351 


200  : 8.  Erebus.  Son  of  Chaos,  a god  of  Hades. 

200  : 15.  Pandarus.  Son  of  Lycaon.  He  aided  the  Tro- 
jans in  the  war  with  the  Greeks. 

200  : 16.  Helen.  The  beautiful,  unfortunate  wife  of 
Menelaus.  Her  flight  to  Troy  with  Paris,  1198  b.c.,  brought 
about  the  Trojan  War.  See  note  on  Priam,  § 27,  and  note 
on  Menelaus,  § 34, 

201  : 21.  When  the  ecstasy  which  gave  it  birth  has  passed 
away  forever.  This  reminds  one  of  Wordsworth’s  Ode: 
Intimations  of  Immortality,  lines  17  and  18:  — 

But  yet  I know,  where’er  I go, 

That  there  hath  passed  away  a glory  from  the  earth.” 

201  : 24.  Phidias.  An  Athenian  sculptor  who  died 
432  B.c.  His  statue  of  Minerva  was  in  the  Pantheon. 

203  : 2.  Libyan.  The  Libyan  Desert  in  Africa.  Libia, 
the  daughter  of  Epaphus,  king  of  Egypt. 

203  : 19.  Plectrum.  A small  instrument  used  in  playing 
upon  the  lyre. 

204  ; 5.  Altar  to  a God  unknown.  See  Acts  xvii,  23. 

204  : 9.  A God  who  made  of  one  blood,  etc.  See  Acts 

xvii,  26. 

204  : 20.  Seats  bought  . . . price  of  a dove.  See  Matt. 
xxi,  12;  Mark  xi,  15;  John  ii,  14,  16. 


III.  ATHENA  ERGANE 
{Athena  in  the  Heart) 

206  : 9.  Valley  of  the  Somme.  The  Somme,  a river  in 
northern  France,  which  flows  into  the  English  Channel. 

206  : 19.  The  faults  of  a work  of  art,  etc.  In  connect i(  U 
with  this  paragraph,  read  Sesame  and  Lilies,  § 10. 


352 


NOTES 


206  : 22,  A foolish  person  builds  foolishly,  etc.  Compare 
Matt,  vii,  24-27. 

207  : 19.  Stonehenge.  A prehistoric  monument  in  Salis- 
bury Plain,  Wiltshire,  England. 

207  : 22.  Michael  Angelo.  A famous  Italian  sculptor  and 
painter  (1475-1564), 

207  : 26.  Bill  Sykes.  The  burglar  in  Dickenses  Oliver 
Twist.  Ruskin  mentions  Bill  and  his  mistress,  Nancy,  in 
Sesame  and  Lilies,  § 22. 

207  : Note.  Rouen  Cathedral.  Rouen  is  the  capital  of 
Seine-Inf erieure,  France.  Its  cathedral  is  one  of  the  most 
impressive  in  existence 

208  : 8.  That  which  is  born  of  evil  begets  evil.  Probably 
suggested  by  John  hi,  6 : ^'That  which  is  born  of  the 
flesh  is  flesh;  and  that  which  is  born  of  the  spirit  is 
spirit. 

209  : 2.  Pharaoh,  or  David,  etc.  Pharaoh,  a title  given  to 
Egyptian  kings.  David,  the  second  king  of  Israel.  Leoni- 
das, a Greek  hero,  king  of  Sparta,  slain  at  Thermopylae, 
480  B.c.  Valerius,  Publius  Valerius,  supposed  to  have  been 
the  colleague  of  Brutus  in  the  first  year  of  the  Roman 
Republic.  (Marcus  Valerius  was  a distinguished  Roman 
general).  Barbarossa  (Italian  Redbeard’0>  a Mohamme- 
dan corsair,  who  conquered  and  became  ruler  of  Algiers 
about  1517.  He  was  succeeded  by  his  brother  Khair-ed- 
Din.  Coeur  de  Lion  (French,  Coeur  de  Leon,  Lion-hearted), 
a name  given,  on  account  of  their  valor,  to  Richard  I.  of  Eng- 
land, and  Louis  VIII.  of  France.  Dandolo,  Andrea  Dandolo 
(1310-1354),  Doge  of  Venice,  1343-1354.  The  reference  may 
be  to  Enrico  Dandolo  (1108-1205),  Doge  of  Venice,  1192-1205, 
as  both  were  first  successful  soldiers,  then  chiefs  or  head 
of  government.  Frederick  the  Great,  Frederick  IT.  (1712- 
1786),  king  of  Prussia.  It  will  be  observed  that  Ruskin 


NOTES 


353 


gives  nine  names  and  eight  nationalities.  Which  Coeur 
de  Leon  does  he  refer  to? 

209  : 20.  In  connection  with  this  paragraph,  read 
Sesame  and  Lilies,  paragraph  10. 

210  : 19o  The  fathers  have  eaten  sour  grapes,  etc.  See 
Jer.  xxxi,  29;  Ezek.  xviii,  2.  How  may  we  know  that  the 
allusion  is  to  Ezekiel? 

What  time  I hear  the  storming  sea, 

Blood  of  my  ancestor  stirs  in  me; 

^ ^ Hi  )(: 

Thrustararorum  was  his  name. 

The  brave  old  fisher  from  whom  I camef 

Hi  Hi  Hi  Hi  Hi 

With  brawny  arm  he  hauled  the  net. 

And  I see  in  my  hands  the  mark  of  it  yetP 
— Henry  Nehemiah  Dodge,  Mystery  of  the  West,  Boston,  1906, 
Foreword, lines  1,  2,  13,  14,  41,  42. 

211  : 3.  Giotto.  Giotto  di  Bondone  (1276-1337),  an 
Italian  painter,  architect,  and  sculptor.  — Diirer.  Albrecht 
Diirer  (1471-1528),  a German  painter  and  engraver. 

211  : 19.  . . . Mont  Blanc.  Geneva,  the  capital  of 

the  canton  of  Geneva,  Switzerland.  Mont  Blanc  (French), 
White  Mountain,  the  highest  mountain  of  the  Alps.  Its 
summit  is  crossed  by  French -Italian  boundary. 

211  : 31.  Voirons.  mountain  range  in  Haute-Savoie, 
France,  ten  miles  east  oi  C eneva,  Switzerland. 

212  :21.  Wonder  and  cc  learning  life  an  i r ath 

etc.  Possibly  this  ‘inheritance^’  is  as  much  from  ishop 
Ulfilas,  the  teacher  and  apostle  of  the  Goths  about  the 
middle  of  the  fourth  century,  as  from  the  jngs.'’ 

What  is  the  inheritance  of  the  Celtic  soul? 

2 A 


NOTES 


212  : 29.  The  pure  heart  it  will  make  pure.  Compare 
Titus  i,  15  : Unto  the  pure  all  things  are  pure.’'  See  also 

the  title-page  of  Abram  Lent  Slnith^s  Lava  Fires,  New  York, 
1888:  — 

**  Kerens  a truth  that  will  endure, 

^To  the  pure  all  things  are  pure/  ” 

214  : 14.  Stones  of  Venice.”  Published,  Vol.  I,  1851; 
Vols.  IT,  III,  1853. 

216  : 1.  Useful  black  servants  to  the  Americans.  Why 
black?  Do  the  Americans  now  buy  their  coal  from  Eng- 
land? Even  brick  used  to  be  brought  to  America  from 
England.  Old  Christ  Church,  Alexandria,  Virginia,  and 
‘^Old  Pohick,^’  near  Mount  Vernon,  the  churches  Washing- 
ton attended,  were  built  of  brick  that  came  from  England. 

216  : 13.  The  ignoble.  Surely  Ruskin  does  not  mean  to 
refer  to  Americans  as  ‘^ignoble.”  For  the  sake  of  Charles 
Eliot  Norton  alone  he  would  have  spared  America  this 
thrust  — even  had  it  been  in  his  mind.  — Fire  balls.  Bullets 
and  cannon-balls. 

216  : 24.  In  justice  only  she  judges  and  makes  war. 
Compare  Is.  xxiii,  5. 

216  : 30.  I will  mock  you,  etc.  Prov.  i,  26,  27.  King 
James’s  version  : and  your  destruction  cometh  as  a whirl- 

wind.” 

216  : 33.  Dies  Irae.  The  day  of  wrath  (ire);  the  Judg- 
ment Day. 

217  : 7.  Cries  of  peace,  where  there  is  no  peare.  See  Jer. 
vi,  14;  viii,  11. 

217  : 33.  Clothed,  and  in  your  right  minds.  See  Mark  v, 
15;  Luke  v,  35. 

219  : 18.  But  when  men  are  good  and  true  . . . stronger 
kings.  Read,  in  connection  with  this,  Sesame  and  Lilies,  § 44. 


NOTES 


355 


222  : 12.  Truism.  The  truth  is  so  obvious  as  to  make 
a statement  unnecessary. 

223  : 11.  Job  . . . ash  heap.  Job  ii,  8. 

226  : 23.  Provence.  An  ancient  government  of  south- 
eastern France. 

227  : 22.  Petroleum  cannot  possibly  be  in  a hurry  to 
arrive  anywhere.  Is  this  humor? 

227  : 33.  A wholesome  human  employment  is  the  first 
and  best  method  of  education,  mental  as  well  as  bodily. 

Judged  by  the  ever  multiplying  agricultui-al,  mechanical, 
and  technical  schools  in  America,  and  elsewhere,  the  world 
has  adopted  Ruskin^s  view. 

228  : 16.  Riband-makers.  Ribbon -makers. 

228  : 24.  Navvies.  Laborers  on  canals  or  other  public 
works. 

232  : 3.  Unguents.  Ointments. 

232  : 8.  Returning  to  cool  English.  Notice  RusKin’s 
remark,  paragraph  132,  concerning  “a  violent  little  frag- 
ment of  an  undelivered  lecture.’^ 

234  : 5.  Three  different  ways  of  writing.  Note  Ruskin’s 
three  ways  of  writing,  remembering  that  these  notes  (1 
to  7)  belong  to  his  third  way  or  manner. 

234  : 18.  Albert  Diirer.  See  note  on  Albrecht  Diirer. 
Albrecht  is  the  German  for  Albert. 

234  : 23.  Aglaia’s  cestus.  In  Greek  mythology,  Aglaia 
is  one  of  the  three  graces.  Cestus,  a girdle,  particularly 
that  of  Aphrodite  (Venus),  which  gave  the  wearer  the  power 
of  exciting  love.  In  § 42,  Athena  in  the  Heavens,^'  Rus- 
kin  speaks  of  his  essay,  ‘^The  Cestus  of  Aglaia.’' 

234  : 25.  This  same  opinion,  etc.  Compare  Browning’s 
Andrea  del  Sarto,  line  69. 

235  : 10.  Cinderella.  In  a fairy  tale,  she  is  a beautiful 
girl  who  drudges  for  her  sisters  and  stepmother. 


356 


yOTES 


235  : 13.  Marchande  des  Modes.  Milliner,  merchant  of 
fashions. 

235  : 27.  Nuy/  altra  pianta.  etc.  H.  F.  Cary's  transla- 
tion gives  this  in  Purgatory,  I,  102-1 04:  — 

Xo  other  plant. 

Cover’d  with  leaves,  or  harden’d  in  its  stalk. 

There  lives.  . . . 

236  : 33.  Aladdin’s  palace.  See  the  story  in  Arabian 
Xighis*  Entertainments,  and  learn  the  meaning  of  the  say- 
ings, “To  finish  Aladdin’s  window,”  and  “To  exchange 
old  lamps  for  new  ones.” 

237  : 6.  Siddim.  A valley  mentioned  in  Gen.  3dv,  3,  8,  10. 

237  : 11.  They  had  brick  for  stone,  etc.  Exact  quotation 
cf  the  latter  part  of  Gen.  xi,  3. 

237:21.  Insolent  . . . solemnity,  /n  = not;  solens  = 
accustomed;  insolent  = not  accustomed.  SoUus  = all,  en- 
tire; annus  = a year;  solemnity  = that  which  takes  place 
annually.  See  note  on  philologists,  § 28,  p.  32. 

238  : 2.  Upside-down,.  Babel.  The  swallow’s  nest. 

238  : 5.  “Lor  via  e lor  fortuna.”  Their  way  and  their 
fortime. 

238  : 19.  Thomas  Bewick.  An  English  wood-engraver 
(1753-1 S2S).  — George  Cruikshank.  .\n  English  artist 
and  caricaturist  (1792-1878). 

238  : 25.  Wold^  of  Tyne.  Woods  on  the  river  Tyne, 
in  the  north  of  England. 

239  : 33.  Delphian,  Vestal  . . . cosmic.  Delphian,  of 
or  pertaining  to  Delphi.  (See  note,  § 24,  p.  154.)  Vestal 
of  or  pertaining  to  Vesta,  the  virgin  goddess  of  the  hearth. 
Cosmic,  ha\’ing  reference  to  universal  law  or  order. 

240:4.  “Home.  Sweet  Home.”  It  is  said  that  John 
Howard  Payne,  when  writing  this  song,  had  in  mind  the 


NOTES 


357 


home  of  Miss  Mary  Harden^  Athens,  Georgia,  which  ho 
visited  in  October,  1835.  Afterwards,  by  letter,  he  made 
her  this  proposal  of  marriage:  — 

am  conscious  of  my  own  un worthiness  of  the  boon  which 
I desire  from  you,  and  cannot,  dare  not,  ask  you  to  give  a decisive 
answer  in  my  favor  now,  only  permit  me  to  hope  that  at  some 
future  time  I may  have  the  happiness  of  believing  my  affections 
returned,  but  at  the  same  time  I conjure  you  to  remember  in 
making  your  decision  that  it  is  in  your  power  to  render  me  happy 
or  miserable.” 

— Extract  from  the  Annols  of  AthenSy  Georgia. 

240  : 7.  Sebastian  Bach,  Johann  Sebastian  Bach  (1685- 
1750),  one  of  the  greatest  composers  of  Church  music. 
He  was  born  in  Eisenach,  and  died  in  Leipsic. 

240  : 18.  La  Robbia.  Luca  della  Robbia,  whose  real 
name  was  Luca  di  Simone  di  Marco  della  Robbia  (1400- 
1482),  a celebrated  Italian  sculptor.  His  son  Andrea, 
and  his  grandsons,  Giovanni  and  Girolamo,  were  noted  for 
their  work  in  terra-cotta. 

241  : 26.  Crackling  of  thorns  under  the  pot.  See  Eccl. 
vii,  6. 

242  : 26.  “ With  puissant  words,  and  murmurs  made  to 
bless.”  Milton,  Arcades,  line  60. 

“This  undisturbed  song  of  pure  consent. 

Aye  sung  before  the  sapphire-colored  throne 
To  him  that  sits  thereon.” 

— Milton,  Ode : At  a Solemn  Music,  lines  6-8. 

243:21.  ‘n’^pdv’n.  golden;  irepbv'q,  buckle. 

245  : 10.  Northern  hands  and  eyes  are,  of  course,  never  so 
subtle  as  Southern.  It  is  interesting  to  make  a study  of 
tlie  degrees  of  latitude  that  have  furnished  the  best  poets, 


358 


JVOTES 


orators,  artists,  statesmen,  warriors,  etc.  Climate  and 
contour  affect  not  only  the  body  — hand,  eye,  voice;  but  also 
physical  and  mental  energy.  See  what  is  said  of  Luini, 
§ 157,  and  of  Turner,  § 158. 

247  : 33.  Cretin.  A degenerate,  deformed  idiot. 

248  : 29.  And  then  you  are  a man.  Mark  iVntony  says 
of  Brutus  {Julius  Ccesar,  V,  v,  73-75):- — 

His  life  was  gentle,  and  the  elements 
So  mix’d  in  him  that  Nature  might  stand  up 
And  say  to  all  the  world,  ‘This  was  a man!’  ” 

Read  Burnses  poem:  For  a’  That  and  a’  That:  — 

The  rank  is  but  the  guinea  stamp 

^ 4:  ^ 

A man’s  a man  for  a’  that. 

249  : 14.  Habits  of  swine  . . . taste  of  husks,  etc.  The 
allusion  is  to  the  story  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  Luke  xv,  11-23, 
particularly  to  verse  16. 

260  : 21.  Athanasian  creed.  One  of  the  three  great  creeds 
of  the  Christian  Church,  dating  from  the  sixth  century. 
The  name  is  from  Saint  Athanasius,  a father  of  the  Church, 
who  was  the  chief  defender  of  the  orthodox  faith  against 
Arianism. 

250  : 25.  Mr.  Mill.  John  Stuart  Mill  (1806-1873),  an 
English  philosophical  writer,  logician,  and  economist. 

251  : 10.  Athol  . . . Glen  Tilt.  Athol,  a district  in 
northern  Perthshire,  Scotland.  Glen  Tilt,  a valley  in  north- 
ern Perthshire,  Scotland.  The  road  follows  the  river  Tilt 
through  the  glen. 

251  : 15.  Loch  Katrine.  A lake  in  southwestern  Perth- 
shire, 25  miles  north  of  Glasgow.  This  lake  furnishes  the 
water-supply  of  Glasgow.  ‘^Ellen’s  Isle,”  ScotCs  Lady  oj 
the  Lake,  is  located  in  this  lake. 


NOTES 


359 


251  : 19.  Dean  and  Chapter.  Dean,  an  ecclesiastical  digni- 
tary, subordinate  to  a bishop,  and  the  chief  officer  of  a chapter, 
which  is  an  assembly  of  monks,  prebends,  or  other  clergymen. 

251  : 27.  Castaly.  The  English  form  of  Castalia,  an 
ancient  fountain  on  the  slope  of  Mount  Parnassus,  Greece, 
sacred  to  the  Muses  and  Apollo. 

251  : 32.  If  the  blind  lead  the  blind,  etc.  Matt,  xv,  14; 
Luke  vi,  39. 

253  : 7.  Luini.  Bernardino  Luini  (or  Luvini),  an  Italian 
painter  of  the  Lombard  school.  He  was  born  about  1475, 
and  died  about  1535. 

253  : 13.  Angelico.  Fra  Giovanni  da  Fiesole  (1387- 

1455),  an  Italian  painter  of  religious  subjects. 

253  : 14.  Veronese.  Paul  (Paolo  Cagliari)  Veronese 
(1528-1588),  an  Italian  painter  of  the  Venetian  school. 

254  : 1.  Lugano.  Town  and  lake  in  the  canton  of  Ticino, 
Switzerland.  — Saronno.  A town  in  the  province  of  Milan, 
Italy.  The  Sanctuary  of  the  Virgin,  a church  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  has  a series  of  frescoes  by  Luini. 

254  : 9.  Milanese  school.  The  school  of  Milan. 

254  : 30.  His  instincts  in  early  infancy  were  warped  into 
toleration  of  evil,  or  even  into  delight  in  it.  This  reminds 
one  of  Pope's  lines  (Essay  on  Man,  lines  217-220):  — 

Vice  is  a monster  of  so  frightful  mien. 

As,  to  be  hated,  needs  but  to  be  seen: 

Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face. 

We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace. 

256  : 4.  Haydon.  Benjamin  Robert  Haydon  (1786- 
1846),  an  English  historical  painter.  His  life  was  full  of 
struggle  and  disappointment,  and  ended  with  suicide. 

256  : 6.  Blake.  William  Blake  (1757-1827),  an  English 
poet,  engraver,  and  painter. 

256  ; Note.  French  Emperor  (1869).  Louis  Napoleon. 


o60 


NOTES 


The  Hercules  of  Camarina 

267  : 19.  Camarina.  An  ancient  city  on  the  southern 
coast  of  Italy,  45  miles  southwest  of  Syracuse. 

258  : 18.  Donatello,  Velasquez.  Donatello,  Donato  di 
Niccolo  di  Betto  Bardi  (1386-1466),  a Florentine  sculptor, 
and  one  of  the  leaders  in  restoring  sculpture  in  Italy.  Velas- 
quez, Diego  Rodriguez  de  Silva  Velasquez,  or  Velazquez 
{cir.  1599-1660),  a celebrated  Spanish  painter. 

259  : 3.  Correggio.  Antonio  Allegri  da  Correggio  (1494- 
1534),  an  Italian  painter  of  the  Lombard  school. 

259  : 5.  Liker.  More  like  a foot. 

260  : 8.  Argos.  A city  in  Argolis,  Greece.  It  produced 
many  noted  sculptors. 

260  : 9.  Corinth.  A city  of  Greece,  situated  near  the 
Isthmus  and  Gulf  of  Corinth. 

260  : 10.  Thurium.  Or  Thurii,  an  ancient  city  of  Magna 
Grajcia,  situated  near  the  modern  city  of  Terranova.  — The 
Siren  Ligeia.  Siren,  from  the  Greek,  means  to  pipe  or 
whistle.  The  Siren  Ligeia,  on  the  coin,  as  in  other  works  of 
art,  is  represented  as  having  the  head,  arms,  and  bust  of  a 
young  woman,  and  the  wings  and  lower  part  of  the  body  of  a 
bird.  What  American  writer  is  the  author  of  a ‘^grotesque 
arabesque’^  story  with  the  title  Ligeia^’? 

260  : 11.  Fountain  of  Arethusa.  The  name  of  a spring  in 
ancient  Greece,  on  the  island  of  Ortygia,  in  the  harbor  of 
Syracuse.  Other  ancient  Grecian  springs  bore  the  same 
name.  See  Milton’s  Lycidas,  line  85.  — Terina  and  Syracuse. 
Terina,  a town  of  the  Brutii,  a people  of  Italy.  Syracuse, 
the  capital  of  the  province  of  Syracuse,  on  the  island  of 
Ortygia,  Sicily. 

260  : 15.  ^nus.  Or  jEnos,  now  Eno,  a city  of  Thrace 
at  the  eastern  mouth  of  the  Hebrus. 


NOTES 


3Gi 


260  : 16.  Bacchus  of  Thasos.  See  note  on  Bacchus,  § 70, 
p.  74.  Thasos,  or  Thasus,  a small  island  in  the  JEgean  Sea 
on  the  coast  of  Thrace. 

260  : 17.  Pomatum’d.  Dressed  with  pomade,  a per- 
fumed ointment  originally  made  of  apples. 

260  : 19.  Apollo  of  Clazomenae.  Clazomence,  an  ancient 
Ionian  city  of  Asia  Minor,  near  the  modern  Vurla. 

260  : 24.  Venus  of  Melos.  Melos,  Italian  Milo,  an  island 
in  the  monarchy  of  Cyclades,  Greece.  It  is  noted  for  the 
Venus  of  Melos  {Venus  di  Milo)  found  in  the  ruins  of  the 
city  of  Melos. 

261  : 22.  Wild  writhing  . . . longing  for  the  moon  . . . 
agony  of  eyes  . . . fiddle-strings.  Pretty  plain  talk,  but 
probably  delivered  in  a half-humorous  way. 

262  : 30.  Pons  asinorum.  Bridge  of  asses. 

264  : 1.  Felis  Leo.  Latin  feles,  felis,  a cat;  leo,  a 
lion. 

264  : 3.  Typhon  and  Echidna.  Typhon,  a monster  giant 
with  an  hundred  heads.  He  made  war  against  the  gods,  and 
was  put  to  flight  by  Jupiter’s  thunderbolts.  See  Milton’s 
Christ's  Nativity,  line  226.  Echidna,  the  mother  of 
dragons,  Gorgons,  the  Nemean  Lion,  and  all  other  adver- 
saries. 

264  : 5.  Cerberus  . . . the  Hydra  of  Lerna.  See  note  on 
Cerberus,  § 23,  p.  162.  Lerna,  a country  of  Argolis,  cele- 
brated for  a grove  and  lake  where  the  Danaides  are  said  to 
have  thrown  the  heads  of  their  husbands. 

266  : 22.  Zeuxis.  A celebrated  painter,  born  at  Her- 
aclea.  He  flourished  about  468  b.c.  He  was  the  disciple 
of  Apollodorus,  and  contemporary  with  Parrhasius. 

267:19.  Holbein.  Hans  Holbein  — “The  Younger” 
(1497-1543),  a German  historical  and  portrait  painter  and 
wood  engraver,  son  of  Hans  Holbein,  “The  Elder." 


362 


yOTES 


267  : 33.  Crown  of  Parsley  first  and  then  of  the  Laurel. 
In  the  Olympic  games,  the  \ictor's  prize  was  a wreath  of 
wild  olive;  in  the  Pythian,  the  prizes  for  musical  excellence 
were  gold  and  silver,  for  gymnastic  exercises  a crown  of 
laurel;  in  the  Nemean,  at  first  a wreath  of  olive,  after- 
wards of  parsley;  in  the  Isthmian,  at  first  a crown  of  pine, 
afterwards  of  parsley,  and  still  later  the  crown  of  pine  was 
resumed.  What  is  the  origin  of  the  term  Poet  Laureate  f 


INDEX  TO  NOTES 


Aaron,  340. 

Abijah,  291. 

Achilles,  337. 
Acropolis,  304,  305. 
Actseon,  332. 
Addison,  296. 

.®]gis,  303. 

^neas,  341. 

^^neid,  326. 
jEnus,  360. 

J^olus,  329. 
^Eschylus,  326. 
^sculapian,  349, 
^sculapius,  346. 
Africa,  302. 

Aglaia^s  Cestus,  355. 
Aglauros,  339. 
Agonia,  340. 

Ajax,  350. 

Alcmena,  303, 

Alecto,  275. 
Alembics,  320. 
Alexandria,  Virgirda, 
Alps,  314. 

Ambrosia,  337. 
Amphitheatre,  316. 
Angelico,  359. 
Antioch,  340. 
Antiparos,  344. 
Antwerp,  299. 
Apennines,  314. 
Aphrodite,  332,  347. 
Apolline  lyre,  343. 
Apollo,  303,  305. 
Apollo-worship,  303. 


354. 


Arabian  Nights*  Entertainments , 
356. 

Aratra  Pentelici,  303. 

Arcadia,  333. 

Arcadia  (Louisiana),  333. 
Arcadia  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  33c 
Ares,  337,  342. 

Argos,  360. 

Argus,  334. 

Aristocracy,  320. 

Aristodemus,  318. 

Aristophanes,  336. 

Aristotle,  350. 

Armstrong,  Sir  William,  298. 
Arno,  348. 

Arnold  ^s  The  Forsaken  Mer-^ 
man,  327^ 

Arnold's  Sohrah  and  Rustum, 
298,  331,  338. 

A Roman  Lawyer  in  JerusaXem, 
282. 

Artemis,  332. 

Asmodeus,  324. 

Asphodel,  339. 

As  You  Like  It,  337. 

Athamas,  335. 

Athanasian  creed,  358, 

Athena,  303,  324. 

Athena  Agoraia,  305. 

Athene,  304. 

Athens,  Georgia,  357. 

Athens  (Greece),  275,  310. 
Atlantis,  the  Ante-Deluvian 
World,  Ignatius  Donnelly, 
310. 


363 


364 


IXDEX  TO  NOTES 


AtreidevS,  338. 

Attica,  338. 

Austria,  298,  319. 

Autolycus,  334. 

Avon,  348. 

Babylon,  305 
Bacchus,  303,  305,  361. 

Bach,  Sebastian,  357. 
Backsliding,  292. 

Baden-Baden.  280. 

Barbarians,  318. 

Barbarossa,  352. 

Bartiwlomew  Fair,  Ben  Jonson, 
299. 

Baruch,  287. 

Barzillai,  291. 

Bates,  Herbert,  301. 

Battersea,  316. 

BaA^ard,  Chevalier,  344. 

Belles,  320. 

Beethoven,  295. 

Belgium,  299. 

Bellerophon,  325,  335. 

Bethels,  320. 

Be^^dck,  Thomas,  356. 
Birmingham  (England),  280. 
Blackmail,  271. 

Blake,  William,  359. 

Bond  Street  (London),  279. 
Bone-picker,  281. 

Boreas,  330. 

Bosphorus,  302. 

Bradford,  300. 

British  Museum,  303,  340. 
Britomart,  320. 

Broad  Church,  304. 

Brough,  300. 

Browning.  A Talc,  .342. 
B^owning^<^  .1  nHrrn  Hrl  Sm'fo, 
355. 


I Brus.sels,  299. 

Buckingham  Palace,  300. 

Burns,  Robert,  358. 

Byron’s  Childe  Harold,  341. 

Cain,  339. 

Calliope,  303. 

Camarina,  360. 

Cambridge  (England),  Daily 
Neivs,  346. 

Camilla,  337. 

Campagna,  269. 

Carlisle,  300. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  316. 

Cary,  H.  F.,  356. 

Castaly,  359. 

Cathedral,  Baltimore,  307. 
Cerberus,  331,  361. 

Ceres,  303,  308. 

Cervantes,  284. 

Chalcedony,  269. 

Character  of  the  Happy  Warrior, 
Wordsworth,  313. 

CharA^bdis,  330. 

Chaucer,  280,  282,  340. 
Chimjera,  335. 

Chrvsippus,  328. 

Cid,  The,  344. 

Cinderella,  355. 

Civil  War,  278. 

Clazomenje,  361. 

Clio,  303. 

Cloister,  302. 

Coeur  de  Lion,  352. 

Colenso,  Bishop,  John  Wulliam, 
283. 

Coleridge’s  Ancient  Mariner, 
333. 

Congressional  IJbrarA^,  W"ash- 
ington,  307. 

Conventicle,  292. 


INDEX  TO  NOTES 


365 


Corinlh,  360. 

Corinth,  Battle  of,  318. 
Correggio,  360. 

Crantor,  328. 

Crete,  318. 

Cricketing,  317. 

Cruden,  293. 

Cruikshank,  George,  356. 
Crusade,  302. 

Cj’nosarges,  332. 

Danae,  329,  336. 

Danaides,  336. 

Dandolo,  352. 

Dante,  287,  295. 

Dante  ^s  Inferno,  331. 

Dante  Purgatorio,  339. 
Darwin,'  Charles,  345. 

Darwin,  Erasmus,  345. 

Darwin,  William  Erasmus,  346. 
David,  290,  291,  352. 

David  Harum,  310. 

Davy,  Sir  Humphry,  350. 
Delphi,  333. 

Demeter,  326,  343. 

Dickens,  309. 

Dickens’s  Oliver  Txvist,  352. 

Die  Dorier,  Miiller^^  317. 
Diodorus,  330. 

Diomed,  334. 

Dionysus,  303. 

Dives,  280. 

Divina  Commedia,  287. 

“Dixie,”  318. 

Draconian,  347. 

Dodge,  Henry  N.,  353. 

Dodge’s  Mystery  of  the  West,  353. 
Donatello,  360.  \ 

Donne,  John,  276. 

Don  Quiocote,  284. 

Doric  flute,  34-3. 


Dowden,  Edward,  292. 

Diirer,  353,  355, 

Echidna,  361. 

Egypt,  302. 

Elysian  fields,  339. 

Ephesus,  305. 

Erato,  303. 

Erebus,  351. 

Erectheum,  340. 

Erichthonius,  338. 

Esau,  339. 

Ethics  of  the  Dust,  343, 
Euripides,  335. 

Eurotas,  .333. 

Euryale,  303. 

Euterpe,  303. 

Exeter  Hall,  320. 

Faerie  Queene,  274,  320,  325. 
Faun,  344. 

Fergusson,  James,  347. 

Fetish,  274. 

France,  297. 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  300. 
Frederick  the  Great,  352. 
Furies,  The,  275,  332. 

Gainsborough,  J'homas,  329. 
Galileo,  287. 

Ganges,  348. 

Garden  of  Proserpine,  Swin- 
burne, 327. 

Gareth  and  Lynette,  Tennyson, 
322. 

Gayley’s  Classic  Myths,  324 
350. 

Geneva,  353. 

Genseric,  .315. 

George  ITT.,  300. 

Gettysburg,  .318. 


366 


INDEX  TO  NOTES 


Gigantomachia,  346. 

Giotto,  353. 

Glaucus,  335. 

Gorgons,  303,  337. 

Gothic,  298. 

Graiae,  337. 

Greece,  298. 

Guillotines,  304. 

Harden,  Miss  Mary,  357. 

Hades,  311. 

Hamlet,  308,  311,  337. 

Harpies,  The,  330. 

Harpy  falcon,  337. 

Hawes,  300. 

Hawthorne  The  Great  Stone 
Face,  307. 

Haydon,  Benjamin  R.,  359. 
Hector,  338. 

Hecuba,  332. 

Helen,  351. 

Helle,  335. 

Helps,  Sir  Artliur,  317. 

Hemlock  drink,  348. 

1 Henry  IV.,  337. 

Hephaestus,  328,  338. 

Hera,  332,  334,  347. 

Hercules,  277,  303,  325,  326. 
Hermes,  333. 

Hesiod,  328. 

Hezekiah,  274. 

Hieroglyph,  346. 

Hieroglyphic,  302. 

High  Church,  304. 

Hiller ^s  Anthologia  Lyrica,  291. 
Hippomedon,  335. 

Holbein,  295,  361. 

^‘Home,  Sweet  Home,*^  356. 
Homer,  286,  329. 

Homer’s  Iliad,  330. 

Hooke,  Robert,  287. 


Horace,  344. 

Horace,  Ode,  321. 

Hotspur,  337. 

Hurdle-races,  317. 

Hydria,  341. 

Icarius,  331. 

Iconography,  345. 

Ida,  339. 

Idothea,  272. 

Iliad,  286,  287. 

Ilissus,  330. 

India,  302,  319. 

Introduction  to  English  Litera- 
ture, Pan  coast,  325. 

Isadas,  318. 

Isthmian  games,  336. 

Italy,  298. 

Ixion,  336. 

Jansen,  Zacharias,  287. 

Jason,  308. 

Jesse,  291,  340. 

Johnson’s  Rasselas,  284. 

Jones,  Inigo,  299. 

Jousting,  316. 

Judas  Iscariot,  282. 

Judea,  347.  . 

Julius  Caesar,  285,  287,  289, 
358. 

Jupiter,  303,  305,  334. 

Jura,  324. 

Keats,  John,  329. 

Keats’s  Ode  to  a Nightingale, 
348. 

Kerioth,  282. 

Kingsley,  Charles,  304. 

Knight,  Richard  Payne,  350. 
Knight-errant,  306. 

Knight  of  the  Garter,  325. 


INDEX  TO  NOTES 


367 


Lacedaemon,  333. 

Lancelot  and  Elaine,  Tenny- 
son, 328. 

Lanier,  Sidney,  319,  342. 
Laocoon,  341. 

Latona,  305. 

Lazarus,  280,  281. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  295. 
Leonidas,  352. 

Leppershey,  Hans,  287. 

Lerna,  325,  361. 

Leucothea,  327. 

Li  pari,  330. 

Lombardy,  314. 

London  Times,  297. 

Longfellow,  287. 

Lord  Byron  ^s  The  Curse  of 
Minerva,  303. 

Louis,  Dr.  Antoine,  304. 
liOuis  Napoleon,  359. 

Loveman,  Robert,  334. 

Low  Church,  304. 

Lugano,  359. 

Luini,  359. 

Lycidas,  311,  327,  329,  360. 

Macbeth,  276. 

Madonna,  The,  308. 

Magna  Graecia,  341. 

Maia,  339. 

Mars,  328. 

Marseillaise,  The,  343. 

Mars’  hill,  275. 

Marsyas,  343. 

Masques,  Ben  Jonson's,  299. 
Medusa,  303,  337. 

Megara,  275. 

Melpomene,  303. 

Menelaus,  338. 

Merchant  of  Venice,  298,  307. 
Mercury,  305,  339. 


Merlin,  341. 

Michelangelo,  287,  295,  352. 
Microscope,  287. 

Mill,  J.  Stuart,  272,  273,  358. 
Milton,  282,  326,  329. 

Milton’s  Arcades,  357. 

Milton’s  Ode:  At  a Solemn 

Music,  357. 

Milton’s  Ode:  To  the  Nativity, 
301,  361. 

Minerva,  303,  307. 

Modern  Painters,  272,  295,  317. 
Mont  Blanc,  353. 

Moriai,  340. 

Morris,  William,  329. 

Mortimer,  337. 

Mount  Parnassus,  305. 

Muller,  Karl  Otfried,  317. 
Muller,  Max,  330. 

Muses,  The,  303. 

Myers’s  Ancient  History,  291 
Mynell,  Mrs.,  272,  273. 
Myrtilus,  334. 

Napoleon,  315. 

Narcissus,  349. 

Nemean  lion,  345. 

Neptune,  327. 

Nereus,  327. 

Neuchatel,  324. 

Newton,  Charles,  324. 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  287. 

Nile,  302,  348. 

Noah,  332. 

Norton,  Charles  Eliot,  287,  293, 
308,  323,  329,  354. 

Ode  to  a Grecian  Urn,  Keats,  324 
Odysseus,  328. 

Odyssey,  286,  287,  329. 

Olympia,  277,  340. 


3G8 


INDEX  TO  NOTES 


OhTiipus,  307,  308. 

On  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe j 
Scott,  296. 

Oreith>ia.  330. 

Orlando,  337. 

Ossa,  308. 

Ossa  and  Pelian,  346. 

Owen,  Sir  Richard,  346. 

Palacmon,  327. 

Palestine,  340. 

Palladio,  299. 

Pallas,  304,  308. 

Pan,  343. 

Panathenaic,  340. 

Pandareos,  331. 

Pandarus,  351. 

Pandrosos,  339. 

Paradise  Lostj  282,  324,  335. 
Paris,  305. 

Parthenon,  303,  304. 

Patroclus,  338. 

Paul,  275. 

Pa>Tie,  John  Howard,  356. 
Pegasus,  325. 

Pelion,  308. 

Peloj>s,  331. 

Penelope,  333. 

Pentateuch  and  Book  of  Joshua 
Critically  Examined,  The,  283. 
Peplus,  342. 

Percy  ^s  Reliques,  307. 

Perdita.  349. 

Perseus,  336. 

Peter  Bell,  292. 

Peter  the  Fisherman,  287. 

Peter  the  Pope,  287. 

Pharaoh,  352. 

Phidias,  351. 

Philologist-',  280. 

Phrixus,  335. 


Phya.  344. 

Pindar,  277,  326. 

Pinkney’s  -4  Health,  342. 
Pisan  Maremma,  269. 
Pi.sistratiis,  343. 

Plain  of  Dura,  311. 

Plato,  310. 

Pleiades,  333. 

Plutus,  308. 

Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  331. 

Poe’s  Annabel  Lee,  342. 

Poe’s  Lenore,  289. 

Poe’s  The  Bells,  342. 

Poe’s  To  Helen,  349. 

Poet  Laureate,  362. 
Polygnotus,  S132. 

Polyh\Tnnia,  303. 
Polyphemus,  342. 

Poor  Law  Act,  281. 

Pope,  Alexander,  338. 

Pope’s  Essay  on  Man,  359. 
Poseidon,  326. 

Proeterita,  274,  281. 

Priam,  334. 

Prologue,  The,  280,  282. 
Proserpine,  303,  327. 

Proteus,  333. 

Provence,  355. 

Purgatory,  356. 

P>^ho,  341. 

Python,  345. 

Raphael,  295. 

Remus,  314. 

Renaissance  architectuio,  301 
Republic  of  Plato,  291. 
Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  329. 
Ricardo,  Da\5d,  272,  273. 
Riley,  James  Whitcornb,  285. 
Rip  Van  inkle,  325. 
Robbia,  Luca  della,  357. 


INDEX  TO  NOTES 


369 


Roh  Roy's  Grave,  Wordsworth, 
309. 

Rornaunt  of  the  Rose,  The,  280. 
Rome,  305,  344. 

Romulus,  314. 

Rose  Terrace,  281. 

Rouen  Cathedral,  352. 

Royal  Exchange,  299. 

St.  Andrew,  307. 

St.  George,  325. 

St.  George’s  Cross,  307. 

St.  Louis,  344. 
vSt.  Michael,  299. 

St.  Paul,  327,  345. 

St.  Paul’s,  299. 

St.  Peter’s,  299. 

St.  Stephen,  287. 

Salyards,  Joseph,  272. 
Salmoneus,  335. 

Samuel,  314. 

Sancho  Panza,  283. 

Saronno,  359. 

Sartor  Resartus,  316. 

Saturn,  303. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  296. 

Scott’s  Lady  of  the  Lake,  358. 
Scott’s  The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,  296. 

Scylla,  341. 

Selling  of  absolution,  304. 
Semele,  305,  336. 

Sesame  and  Lilies,  311,  313,  320, 
324,  330,  351,  352,  353,  354. 
Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture, 
The,  301. 

Severn,  Joseph,  324. 
Shakespeare,  337. 

Shylock,  319. 

Sirens,  331. 

Sirius,  .331. 

2 B 


Sisyphus,  336. 

Smith,  Abram  Lent,  354. 

Smith,  Adam,  273. 

Somme,  351. 

Sorrento,  330. 

Southey,  Robert,  286. 

Sparta,  318. 

Spenser,  Edmund,  274,  325. 
“Star  Spangled  Banner,  The,” 
343. 

Steeple  chase,  317. 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  278. 
Stheno,  303. 

Stonehenge,  352. 

Stones  of  Venice,  301,  354. 

Story,  W.  W.,  282. 

Suwarrow,  315. 

Sykes,  Bill,  352. 

Synagogues,  301. 

Syracuse,  360. 

Syria,  302. 

Tale  of  Two  Cities,  Dickens, 
304. 

Talisman,  274. 

Tantalus,  331. 

Taras,  341. 

Tarentum,  341. 

Taygeta,  333. 

Telescope,  287. 

Temple  Bar,  299. 

Teniers,  David,  the  Elder,  294. 
Teniers,  David,  the  Younger, 
294. 

Tennyson’s  The  Brook,  310. 
Terpsichore,  303. 

Tetzel,  Johann,  304. 

Thalia,  303. 

Thanatopsis,  334. 

Thessalv,  307. 

The  Tempest,  327. 


370 


INDEX  TO  NOTES 


Thetis,  327. 

Thurium,  360. 

Tiber,  305. 

Tintoret,  314. 

Tisiphone,  275. 

Titian,  295. 

Torcella,  269. 

Tournament,  316. 

Troy,  350. 

Turner,  J.  M.  W.,  295. 
Turnpike,  272. 

Tuscany,  298. 

Tyndall,  John,  324. 

Typhon,  361. 

Ulfilas,  353. 

Ulysses,  329,  342. 

‘‘Uncle  Remus, ’^326. 

University  of  Oxford,  303. 

Unto  this  Last,  271,  272,  273, 
313. 

Urania,  303. 

United  States,  297. 

Valerius,  352. 

Vatican,  305. 

Velasquez,  360. 

Venice,  298. 

Venus  di  Milo,  361 . 
Venus-worship,  303. 

Veronese,  359. 

Versailles.  305. 

Vergil,  339. 

Vergil’s Mneid,  330. 
Virgin-worship,  303. 

Voirons,  353. 

Von  Liebig,  Baron  Justus,  320. 
Vulgate,  The,  280,  307. 

Wandel,  269. 

Wealth  of  Notions,  273. 


Westminster  Abbey,  317. 
Westmoreland,  300. 

Whinstone,  308. 

W' interns  Tale,  The,  349. 
Wordsworth,  292,  308,  333,  344. 
Wordsworth’s  Ode:  Intimo' 

tions  of  Immortality,  351. 
Wren,  Sir  Christopher,  2PP. 

“Yankee  Doodle,”  318. 

Zeuxis,  361. 

New  Testament 

Acts,  269,  273  (2),  275,  287,  293, 
342,  345,  351. 

1 Corinthians,  274,  301,  303, 
327,  346. 

2 Corinthians,  275,  311. 

Eph.,  293,  343. 

Gal.,  275. 

Heb.,  275,  276,  285,  304. 

James,  283,  292. 

John,  270,  274,  279,  282  (3), 
290,  305,  345,  346,  351,  352. 
Luke,  271,  273  (2),  274,  280  (3), 
281,  282  (2),  285  (2),  287, 
290  (2),  293  (2),  300  (2),  304, 
306,  307,  311,  344,  346,  349, 

350,  358,  359. 

Mark,  273,  282  (2),  290  (2), 
300,  304,  305,  306,  307,  310, 
311,  344,  346.  351,  354. 
Matthew,  271,  273,  274  (2),  279, 
280  (2),  282  (3),  285  (2),  287, 
288  (4),  290  (2),  292  (2), 
293  (2),  294,  300  (3),  301,  304, 
305,  306  (2),  307,  310,  322  (2), 
342,  344,  346,  347,  349,  350, 

351,  352,  359. 

1 Peter,  31  k 


INDEX  TO  NOTES 


371 


Phil,  274,  285,  292. 

Rev.,  279,  282,  284,  292,  293  (3), 
322,  349. 

Romans,  275,  288,  290,  292  (2), 
293. 

1 Thes.,  343. 

1 Tim.,  277. 

2 Tim.,  322. 

Titus,  354. 

Old  Testament 

1 Chron.,  285,  291,  299,  346. 

Deut.,  293,  346. 

Eccl.,  275,  289,  318,  342,  357. 

Exodus,  290,  299,  311,  340,  346. 

Ezeh.,  353. 

Genesis,  284,  285,  291,  299,  311, 
327,  332,  339  (2),  347,  348, 
356  (2). 

Hos.,  293. 

Isaiah,  269,  274,  275,  276,  285, 
292  (2),  293,  322  (2),  340  (2), 
346,  354. 


Jeremiah,  285  (2),  287,  293,  307, 

353,  354. 

Job,  269,  276  (2),  293,  300,  308, 
319,  333,  355. 

Joel,  293,  328. 

Josh.,  282. 

Judges,  327. 

1 Kings,  291  (3),  309,  346. 

2 Kings,  274. 

Lamentations,  276. 

Leviticus,  299,  346. 

Mai.,  292. 

Micah,  322. 

Neh.,  299. 

Num.,  299,  346. 

Proverbs,  290  (2),  294,  311,  322, 

354. 

Psalms,  275,  273,  285  (3).  292 
(3),  293  (3),  300,  325,  326, 
334,  340,  342. 

1 Sam.,  314,  322. 

2 Sam.,  285,  290,  291. 

Zech.,  288,  293. 


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